My Dirty Little Secret
by Puck -X
Summary: Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder; Lucius wants what he sees. Luckily enough for him, Voldemort would be ready to provide him anything as long as he served him. Hermione included.
1. Lucius is Looking

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**My Dirty Little Secret.**

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Beauty was the most rentable good existing. One couldn't fight beauty; it had the most stupefying power on Men.

Beauty was everlasting; it couldn't perish. One thing that will remain for ever in history, no matter what people have the power or what war was going on, was beauty. One thing that was saved, and conserved with proud and greed was splendour.

History told it all the time.

Helen of Troy, the most beautiful woman of all Greece, had caused thousands of dead soldiers, but still very few blamed her. How could you curse her? She was the epitome of loveliness.

Athena, Pompeii, the Antique Greece, the Rome Empire would never be forget because of the beauty it had created.

Painters as Michangelo, Monet, Edelfelt and Renoir would never be forget. Painters are the true heroes and the most acute viewers of their time. What do you connect at first with Da Vinci? Mona Lisa of course; to hell with his inventions; he only remained in history because of one painting.

Being good wasn't rentable; or only rentable a short time. Those who were heroes could suddenly become the scum of the earth in a space of fifty years. Those who had fought bravely in battles could suddenly be only seen as murderers. In one hundred years no one will surely remember Mother Theresa. She was old and ugly as she died; Marilyn Monroe would be remembered forever.

Evil was very rentable too. Names like Hitler or Voldemort will forever be in history books. But Evil was evil, and people had a strong tendency to fight it.

Whereas beauty, no one could criticize it. One was even praised for keeping beauty safe and alive.

One thing Lucius Malfoy adored was beauty. He treasured beauty. Beauty was his drug, his medicine, his crave, his hunger, his life-essence, his obsession.

In the dungeon of Malfoy Manor, he kept his most loved possessions; his statues, his paintings, his books, his jewels, his sounds, his animals, his sweet nothings, all carefully collected through years.

Lucius's childhood had been so sweet. So sweet and soft and cherished; He loved to bear in mind his childhood years. Kaïn Malfoy, Lucius's father, had been very close to his son. Both had been big worshippers of art. Melinda Malfoy, Lucius's much loved mother, had been a talented and brilliant painter. Lucius had grown up in his obsession, receiving feedback in return from is parents.

He married Narcissa Black for that reason. She was an exquisite and divine creature. He hated her character, but her good looks made up for it. Made up for it a lot. It didn't hurt that she was graceful and elegant.

But one thing Lucius loathed about his wife was her voice, which was snotty, sluggish and high- pitched. When she talked, you had the impression of being bombarded with broken shards and that your ears were being rubbed with extra care with sand paper.

His son, Draco Malfoy, was a little jewel.

Lucius Malfoy was so proud of is son. He could forgive his son everything. He had never been able to beat the crap out of him; nothing was allowed to hit that perfect little cherub face. Lucius had dozens of pictures of Draco in different ages in his dungeon. The sight of his son, a thing that truly belonged to HIM, made his chest swell up with pride. He owned such a beautiful little thing. He created it.

Of course Lucius knew that beauty had different shapes and forms.

Sounds were one of them. Lucius liked music, and the clang of magnificent words. Often, he walked through the enormous Malfoy library in search for names, words to pronounce. One of his favourite words was aniline, a special shade of red colour.

Another word he liked was a forename. Hermione. Hermione was one of the prettiest words he ever had heard or read. It sounded unique and exotic, somehow mysterious and complex. Lucius would have loved to be called Hermione.

He loved the way it rolled on his tongue; he liked to pronounce it in different ways. Some times, without even realising it, he chanted the name under his breath, like some kind of inner mantra.

He had received a huge blow as he had seen the girl in question. She was so… unattractive. He had eyed her carefully as he had met her and the Weaslys just before her Second Year. Bushy, light brown hair, buckled teeth with braces, bright rust coloured eyes. Tanned skin.

Even through she looked hideous, Lucius had sensed a potential under all that bushy hair and beaver teeth. He had taught his son the clever little tooth trick in hope his son would show mercy and rectify the poor girl's face.

He had been thrilled as he learned what had happened to her during his son's Fourth year. He had seen how stunning she had looked thanks to secretly shot pictures Rita Skeeter had taken. Lucius had been happy to see how he could discern the potential beauty out of such a human. She looked scrumptious, and Lucius had the feeling that it only the beginning of her transformation.

Oh how he had been right!

She looked delicious when they had fought in the Department of mysteries. He had managed to touch her face and hair a short time during the fight, and had almost fainted. It was so soft, a real treat for his fingers. Lucius adored touching everything, so his taciturn sensibility was very developed.

Her skin was so supple and malleable, and her hair shiny and soft. He yearned to curl his hands into that hair. Those curly golden strands had been filled with anger. He had seen it crackle under his fingers. Her eyes contained so much anger it reminded him of another person: Tom Riddle.

She was so much at the same time. She was so much Lucius was ready to sacrifice anything just to touch her face once. Anything. But he wasn't anyone. He would receive the object of his desire. No, not object, human being.

Lucius of course had despised Hogwarts. True, the castle was superb, but the people… The people were grotesque. Lucius had loathed being in school. He loathed Dumbledore even worse for forcing upon them this ridiculous robe rule.

This was why he joined the Death Eaters. Tom Marvolo Riddle had been an incredibly stunning young man. Handsome, so handsome it was almost an insult. His dark blue eyes were mesmerizing when hate and anger clouded them.

That had been before; Lucius couldn't help but shudder as he saw what the Dark Lord had done to himself. The handsome young man had turned into the most hideous, repugnant, vile and disgusting living item existstable.

Yet he had returned eagerly to his Master as he had power again. Beauty was one thing that Voldemort had promised to him. He had received it. Great amounts of it. Lucius had in his possessions paintings so valuable that there was no price for them.

The Dark Lord didn't command his Death eaters to rape. He was very against it. Lucius fancied the thought of Tom Riddle's mother being raped, or at least abused by some Muggle man.

Snape was an undeniable source of joy for Lucius. The man was so dark, so desperate, so angst filled, Lucius had shivers running down his spine and goose bumps of the sight of him. Severus's mask of deep despair was art.

Severus Snape's story was horrible: his mother had died in childbirth. The child was a stillborn son. Severus's beloved bigger sister died in a very strange accident. No one really knows if it was an accident, or if it was suicide, or eventually her father murdered her. She had been five years older then Severus. His sister had been his Ersatz mother, and she left him just before he left for Hogwarts.

Hogwarts was a long torturous time for him, being the laughingstock of everyone. But, he also found his true love, who bore the name of the stone of the dead: Opale. He should have sensed the bad omen, but alas, they married. They had a fucking happy ending. Severus was happy with Opale, who gave him a daughter and a son, Ophelia and Angelo. .

But alas, fate was cruel and Severus's beloved wife and children died. Lucius didn't know how, but so was the facts and Snape was going to mourn his whole life. This was the reason why he loathed teaching and apparently hated his pupils. They reminded him of his own Angelo and Ophelia that had never the chance to attend Hogwarts.

Severus had been devastated as he had learned about his little family's death. Lucius had pictures of those clear turquoise eyes turning slowly black. It had been a very particular thing to watch. That what used to be the most striking eyes in the whole wizarding world slowly turned black. Ah- the power of emotions!

A painful memory to Lucius was the burial of Opale, Ophelia and Angelo Snape. Severus had gone mad during the ceremony, laughing, screaming and crying. He ripped his hair off, and tried to kill himself several times. Lucius was the one who tattooed the name of his spouse and offspring on his chest, just above his heart.

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Yeah- New story. Lucius/Hermione. Violence, blood, hostage taking, almost rapes and odd obsessions galore!

You better review.


	2. Hello Hermione!

**Author's Note: **Oh là là! People reviewing! Me very pleased, very pleased indeed. I feel like being a total pain in the arse: When I have eleven (11) reviews, I'll update the next chapter. (Ha! I'm evil).

Sirael your review was lovely. This chapter id dedicated to you. And you like the philosophical part in it? Om my, mind if I copy and paste it on my philosophy paper? My philosophy teacher thinks I'm crap!

The sexy flower: Voilà! Updated!

Whogirl: And another brand new chapter. Feel the angst!

Enchanted Light: Hope this chapter isn't dissapointing.

Hellfire: You love it? You better!

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My Dirty Little Secret**

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Lucius woke up that morning with a queasy feeling in his stomach. He smiled. This was an undeniable sign of something good was about to happen that very day. 

He had had the same feeling the morning he was supposed to be sent to Azkaban. He had convinced the Dark Lord to send Crabble instead. Crabble had swallowed a very special mix of Polyjuice Potion mixed with Lucius's Malfoys hair and an everlasting potion.

Every wizard with a common sense knew that mixing those two potions had as a result a strong poisoning and very painful death. But the body would looks like Lucius's.

Of course, every one expect Severus had forgotten this little detail. The original plan was to let Crabble rot in Azkaban; but this little inconvenient was very good after all.

And Lucius was a cunning Slytherin. As Crabbe/ fake-Malfoy was transferred to St Mungos, Lucius changed places with Crabble during the short transportation from the ambulance to the Hospital.

Narcissa, beautiful but stupid, believed her husband was dying, and in a fit of love (and stupidity induced by too much alcohol), poisoned herself and died. Lucius didn't mourn her long. She had really a terrible voice, and he couldn't stand it, no matter how pretty Narcissa was.

And besides, he had his Hermione now to cherish. To relish. To attach himself to.

Lucius had spent a month with a mutated virus of chicken pox in bed in Mungos. It had been a torture to see the ugly people around him, but this gave him also the possibility to read the newspaper and to study closely Hermione Granger.

He was very engrossed with the girl. She was quite popular; the Quibbler had published a special article about her that had truly fascinated him. The text itself was dull and talked mainly about her achievement in school. Lucius knew this since his son was always complaining about her.

No, the interesting thing about the article was the picture of her. It was obviously taken during the last school year since the young girl had her school robes on. She wore a crimson long sleeved shirt which tightened around her breasts as she breathed. Her hair was piled into two buns on either side of her head, but still strands of hair escaped from it and framed her face.

What really spellbound him were her hands. They were small and fair, seemed to be soft with perfectly clean nails. Small hands with great power Lucius often thought. How he dreamed of those hands! Those hands running through that hair. Hands writing, scratching, exploring her own body.

He woke up that morning. He first smiled because it was his birthday.

His 42 birthday. Lucius grimaced. He was getting old. In wizarding standard (the only one who mattered) he was still young, but forty-two years was still forty-two years. You don't get any younger.

After being caught in the Ministry in a Death eater costume (and it wasn't Halloween) he had been unofficially fired. Lucius couldn't care less. He could now admire his fine-looking, beautiful art collection all day long. He couldn't really do it whilst Narcissa lived. She didn't understand it, and often buggered Lucius just when he felt almost every drop of beauty being soaked into him.

The day went uneventfully. He received a couple of owls congratulating him for his new year, but Lucius knew the real party started the evening; he was sure Voldemort had some kind of festivity prepared just for him.

Just as presumed, as soon the sun settled away from the sky, Lucius was summoned. Quickly adjusting his mask, he apparated into the dark Lord's Head Quarters.

Lucius cultivated the art of coming fashionably late. He was the last one to pop to the Riddle Manoir. He marched directly into the council chamber and sat down on the chair which was at Voldemort's right side, there were Jesus sits next to God. Lucius liked this analogy. He was close to Voldemort's heart.

The last of the Initial Ones (the Death eaters from the first war) settled themselves comfortably down as Voldemort appeared at the door entrance.

He walked solemnly to his almost-throne. He settled himself down and whistled Nagini. The serpent curled itself around the Dark Lord's feet and snapped its jaw near Lucius's foot playfully.

Lucius liked snakes, and often played with Nagini when the Dark Lord was too occupied brain raping Harry Potter. These games often included a poor House-Elf, and Nagini eating it up under its terrified gleeful squeaks as the poor creature did what its master ordered it to do.

"- Welcome my dear ones. I wish you are feeling well tonight. If you don't, I have news that might cheer you..."

Lucius straighten himself on the chair he was sitting on. This could only be good news.

"- We have a hostage. And a very honourable hostage indeed."

Two scrawny and acne ravaged late teen age boys appeared in the room on their cue.

They held a girl between them.

A young girl in a light blue dress. A short, light blue dress. You could see the lacy petticoat under it. The dress had a corsage that showed a bit of her bosom. The dress clings perfectly to her body without making her look like a slut. She had that unconscious aura of flirtness little girl were surrounded by.

Her eyes were closed and her skin was pale. Only two little pink blots were on her cheeks, like the ones painted on porcelain dolls.

Lucius was so stunned by the beauty of the girl he didn't notice that he had jumped up and pressed his hands together, as if thanking by praying whatever god, goddess or ugly statuette he was worshipping.

Lucius's birthday present had arrived.

Hermione Granger was brought to him. The Masterpiece of Beauty. Lucius already turned to thank the Dark Lord as the girl's eyes fluttered open.

The words never came out.

Lucius sensed how the other Death Eaters sucked in air.

It wasn't possible to be human and have eyes like those. They were two smouldering, incandescent golden burnt suns. Her parents could have impossibly been plain Muggles. Her eyes were asters. Two young suns incrusted into her face like precious gems.

All her doll like appearance has faded away with the opening of her eyes. Her hair was almost black in the candle light, curls casting strange twisted shadows on her face.

Her eyes were first unfocused, but suddenly they started to burn for real. Rage emanated from her eyes. That anger melted the ice in Lucius blue eyes. As the ice melted, drops of tears started to trail down his cheeks.

He wasn't ashamed of his feelings. Beauty drove you crazy.

"- Where am I?"

She steadied herself on her feet and roughly scuffed away the two oafs that held her. They released her, but both stood shoulder to shoulder on each side of her.

"-You are my hostage."

The girl raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side.

"- Oh? _Really_? And I thought I was here to redecorate the house. Black Gothic style is out, pastels are in."

Lucius couldn't help put to clap once more his hands.

So delightful! What a wonderful clear voice. It had the clang of a silver bell, and it rang pleasantly in your ears. Her say was perfect; she articulated clearly, and had a delightful little British accent.

Hermione was becoming more perfect with each passing minute.

She had a sense of humour too. Detail worth taking in consideration.

"- Fierce little thing, aren't you Miss Granger? Please, take a seat."

The two goons by her side pushed her to a stool which was on a small platform. The girl swatted away the boys next to her with a movement of her hand.

She sat down on the chair she was designated to sit on. Her fire eyes travelled large wooden chair, poking the metal structure around it. The girl even tip toed to put her head into the half casket over her head.

She had been bound to the chair with several charms and dark art curses. She was still able to move a bit through.

Lucius had been delighted as she had enumerated the spells cast upon her.

She looked adorable in her blue dress, sitting on a Muggle Electric Chair. The Dark Lord was very fond of it. It was astonishing really what Muggles had invented as torture devices. The Electric Chair made people chatty even more efficiently than Crucio.

Adorable as she was, she looked so out of place in this dark, dusty place. Lucius longed for the moment where he finally could take his gift home and install her in the Dungeon amidst his other treasures.

"- When shall we get started with her?"

Lucius didn't see who asked the question, but fully knew it was Snape. He turned angrily and stared angrily at Snape through the holes of his mask.

The girl squirmed on the chair.

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You know the conditions: When I have eleven reviews (or more) chapter three is coming. 


	3. The Gryffindor Gift

Thanks to all who cracked up under my stupid pressures. I thank veryone who reviewed. Big thanks to Whogirl who made it possible for this chapter to be published tonight. It's kinda dedicated for her.

**Sarah:** I KNOW! It is degrading to impose people to review; I thought so too! It's a horrible habit some people have. The worse part is- it works! Totally does! The ratings for this story boosted up really quickly! It's so totally scary!

So even through I think it's very blackmailing and bitchy- what do you expect? It works; why stop? I received three reviews in less than an hour! So well: Twenty reviews and chapter four appears here. …. Goddness I'm so goddanm shallow. I feel bad now.

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**My Dirty Little Secret**

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This wasn't normal. Hermione could not put her finger on exactly what was wrong, but something made her shiver.

It was too calm. Too rational. She was the enemy. They were supposed to torture her for information. Hold her hostage; send pieces of her to the Order to scare them. Taunt her. Scream at least!

But no, all she gets is a silent reception. Voldemort had only talked to her once.

Snape's suggestion obviously startled someone. She couldn't really figure out who it was.

Death Eaters were supposed to be cruel, Muggle Born hating individuals with an unquenchable lust to kill and cause pain.

But here she was, sitting in an electric chair, a bit puzzled maybe, a bit scared too, but not terrorized at all.

Well, it wasn't true. She was terrorized, but she was angrier than anything else.

Hermione was a bit angry at herself to be so easily kidnapped. She had managed to fight off three of the five Death Eaters with magic, and simply broke the arm of the fourth Death Eater rather brutally with a tree cob she had found.

The fifth Death Eater had been very clever. Or maybe it had been Voldemort's plan. Anyways, as the fifth Death Eater (not one Hermione knew) ran towards her with a stiletto, she automatically raised her arm in attempt to catch the knife.

The dagger had been a Portkey. Both had apparated near an old, ugly, betony bunker. Hermione had been quickly thrown into a crystal cage. Thanks to all her time passed in the library, she knew that escaping wasn't an option. The crystal cage was a tricky little thing: if you tried to use magic, or to escape without the key, your bones turned into crystal. Bumping into someone might break your skeleton into thousands of pieces.

Hermione figured out they had hid there during the whole day before this time a bigger battalion of Death eaters came to fetch her.

The only one who came unharmed enough to drag her to the Dark Lord were the two acne ravaged teenagers that brought her into the room. The rest were in the Infirmary being taken care off for several cases of pure physical pain due to Hermione's struggle.

The Death Eaters who'd had been part of the kidnapping didn't brag about it. The new recruits assumed because they were dutiful followers and the praise was Voldemort's. The older ones knew that they were too humiliated by the fact of a Muggle-Born managed to neutralize them without magic.

What they didn't know however was that it was perfectly legitimate to admit this.

The kidnapping had been planned on purpose. Snape wasn't trusted by Voldemort anymore. The Order's plan had been simple, yet quite cruel: Use Hermione Granger as bait to get Voldemort to trust Snape.

Why Hermione?

Answer: because: a) She was Muggleborn  
b) She had managed to send a good deal of Death eaters to Azkaban  
c) She was one of Harry Potter's best friends.

The Plan's first phase had started already back in October: Hermione's intense training. Not only did she receive very trough training in Defense against Dark Arts, but also a very strict body training.

The magical part had been easy. Hermione was almost two years ahead of everyone in her class.

Only to get the body of an athlete in less then a half year without too many people noticing, that was a real challenge. Hermione had always loathed sports, but was now forced to cope with the situation.

The only consolation maybe was that Tonks had trained her. Both women came along well, and training her body wasn't as rough as Hermione had suspected.

It was worse.

True, she learned a complicated mix of teakwo-do, karate, boxing and wrestling, which had been exhausting to no end, but she had to admit that having a good physical strength was good.

Snape had taken care of her psychological training. She had been taught various forms of Occlumency. She'd taught how to lie, how to act innocently, how to control your body so it wouldn't betray her.

Her graduation test with Snape had been successful. She had managed to make Malfoy's cauldron explode and almost got away with it. Snape saw through her the last moment; she received a mental congratulation and a withdraw of fifty points form Gryffindor.

The plan had been checked over many times. Hermione was going to get kidnapped on her birthday. She would go to her Muggle relatives and friends to party and would come home –escorted of course- and get attacked by death eaters. Snape – part of Hermione's escort- would stun the other people protecting the girl and drag her away to a betony bunker and wait until the next band of death eaters would come and pick her up.

From there on, Hermione would travel along with the Death eaters –being many times 'tortured' by Snape, who'd be using charms and potions in order to put fake wounds on her. If however the Dark Lord decided to the job himself, Hermione would be provided with a potion that would numb her body and block her brain from any thought.

Later, after Voldemort's head quarters would have been located thanks to Hermione and Snape, the Order will strike. They would have concrete evidence of the Death eaters whereabouts and he able to legally kill them. If Hermione's life would come to be too much as risk, Snape would fake her death.

The plan was fool proof. Or so they thought.

The first problem had been more or less easy to arrange: Snape, due to an accident in during Potions had to stay at Saint Mungos. He wouldn't be released in time for the plan. But it was impossible to postpone it.

So Hermione had to fight by herself with the escort. It had gone well, very well indeed. She had hidden many extra wands and various metal objects in her cloths and shoes to be able to defend herself.

She would never forget the faces of the Death eaters as one of her wands taken another one suddenly appeared from under her coat. And even strapped from her five wands, she still had managed to freak out the second battalion of Death eaters with the metal spikes she had charmed to come out on command.

The crystal cage was useful as long as the prisoner was inside it; when outside of the cage it had no effect whatsoever on people anymore.

A well placed curse drained the energy from her body. Two scrawny teenagers dragged her to an old house on the top of a hill in the middle of a forest. Hermione wondered if the place could have looked even more like a cliché. It was a dark, old, murky house on the top of a hill, in the middle of a forest, surrounded by a river, a long way from everything.

But as she had been presented to the eldest and most prestigious Death Eaters, the Old Ones (Snape explained every thing about the hierarchy among the Death eaters), she slowly started to get doubts about the fool proofness of the plan.

Some thing was bound to go wrong. Very, very wrong.

But Hermione didn't know when. Now obviously two Death Eaters were fighting over her. Charming.

One of them was Tonks, morphed into Snape, trying to get through the plan. It was surprising that no one had wanted the torturing to start. Hermione didn't understand this.

Hermione knew of course of her good looks. She knew she had become increasingly pretty in a non classical way the last six months. She had been a cute little girl; the early stages of puberty had destroyed her baby looks, but now the metamorphosis to a stunning young woman was ahead.

The sports forced upon her had been benefic. Her figure had developed in the right way. In a sense, Hermione was very content with her looks in a dark way: every one who used to call her an ugly, buckle teeth Know-It-All were quivering under the gaze of her golden eyes. Those boys who'd ignored her felt the weight of their loss every time she walked into the Great Hall.

She had the typical revenge of the ugly duckling turning into a beautiful swan. Only swans were evil, nasty animals that would bite you if you bother them, and really, ducklings were as cute as kittens or puppies.

But her looks were complexly irrelevant to the plan. Or so she thought.

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Forget it- give me honest reviews. Honest reviews; that's what I want.


	4. Breaking Battle

**Author's Note (This is a BIG and LONG one, skip if you want. BUT! If you want more, read the author's note.)**

New update! Hoora-aaay! Chapter **Four**. I was supposed to update this a bit earlier, but as I went on and tried to log in - SHOCK, GASP!- my computer refused to get connected to the server. Therefore I apoligize for the lateness of the chapters.

This is very funny; I write this story without even really thinking about it. It's just there. I write three to four chapters at the same time and publish them one by one to have more time to write some more so the lack of chapters don't stop the story.

In other news:

As **Lone Angel** pointed it out, grammatical errors and other mistakes pops us now and then. So now I have a Beta, Julie (Ebony Ink), the same once that works on **Angelic Layer**.

Now to you all there out: I WANT SOME SERIOUS APPRECECIATION FOR HER! I WOULDN'T WRITE SO MUCH WITHOUT HER HELP! Mention her in your reviews! From now on, I go on Beta strike, meaning that if Julie (aka Ebony Ink) doesn't receive any POSITIVE feed-back, I will not publish the chapters. I think that Betas are greatly underappreciated. They make lots of work and no ever thank them enough.

Ok, time for some thank-yous to various wonderful people!

**Lone Angel**: Thanks for the pressure! I'm scared to disappoint you all… I don't want to be too much of a spoiler, but don't expect anything too dark, but don't think their relationship will be easy.

**MizSatie:** My, my, I have a new fan . Very nice! Hope you aren't disappointed with where this story is going. Feel free to send me complains thru mail and mention what you like and what you dislike.

**Gcho831**: Thanks!

**Jocelyn:** Yea- wrong training for now. Will be of use for her later.

**Applebee: **Lucius is evil, you think so? Really? He's going to be weirdly evil; indirectly humiliating Hermione.

**EnchantedLight**: New shiny chapter! Yea!

**Melissa Ivory:** Aw, I hope resuscitated you with this new chapter.

**WhoGirl:** I always imagined the Order to make those kinds of plans. I fancied one to backfire really badly. This was the beginning of the whole story. Lucius's obsession with beauty came up during one of my art classes. I'm going to shift POVs during the story, both Hermione and Lucius will tell some same events from different angles. Chapter 8 is going to one of those.

The last but not least: **Sirael**. I absolutely love your reviews since you go thoroughly with your explanations. I'd like your opinion about a couple of chapters. BUT -! They are going to be published only later. I'd like your opinion pre-publish time. Mail me. Oh- and if you think Hermione boxing and wrestling is funny, wait until chapter ten. Lucius has to buy tampons.

As always, review! Reviews makes me write more and I'm sure my beta will work extra hard if she knew you all are big supporter of hers! Chop chop! Review, review!

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**My Dirty Little Secret**

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Lucius was not happy. Not happy at all!

His gift was going to get snatched away from him right under his nose. He didn't know what was worse: the stealing of her, or the fact that someone wanted to damage her.

Seeing how Voldemort started to lean in favour of Snape, Lucius obviously had to rethink his last argument.

"My Lord…. It's my birthday today."

Voldemort's head snapped up.

He had completely forgotten about that. He knew how Lucius adored beauty. He had promised him beauty in huge amounts if Lucius joined him. True, he had kept his promise, but seeing this delightful, fierce little creature, he knew that Lucius would never forgive him if he didn't give her to him.

No matter how important she was to Potter, or to Dumbledore, or to the Order, he couldn't let Lucius go. He was his most valuable ally. He couldn't let Malfoy go.

That's why he said with a resigned note in his voice "Go ahead, Lucius, she's your gift. I promised you beauty; here it is, in the form of this delightful little girl."

Lucius Malfoy skipped in joy. He took off his mask and pushed back his hood. Lucius hoped his hair wasn't messy.

The couple of meters to Hermione were easily skipped and with a graceful hop he was standing on the platform she was sitting on.

Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"- Hello there, Miss Hermione Granger, my birthday present! How are you on this fine evening?"

When she heard he was born on the same day as she was, she felt very insulted. How did he dare be born on the same day as she? They might both be attractive, but the similarities between them ended there.

Now Hermione felt threaded. She was supposed to go willingly to Lucius Malfoy? Was she supposed to be a good, obedient gift?

Definitely NOT!

As soon as she felt her limbs being freed, Hermione quickly stood up. Her body smoothly followed the curves of Lucius's body, before quickly twirling around and away. She had a pair of heavy boots on, but this didn't stop her from rising to her tip toes and taking one of her feet in her hand before spinning quickly.

The girl released her leg, which due to the power of the twirling had quite an impact on one of the scrawny teenage hulks that had dragged her.

Quickly, she ducked the lame attempts to catch her with physical force. Hermione tried to win time. She knew she was on the second floor of an old house, which meant that jumping out of a window would be the last resort. She had two options left: either run for her life, or steal a wand and try to make the best out of the situation.

Hermione was a smart girl: she did all three at the same time.

She ran towards the exit, snatched a wand abruptly from Lestrange, cast defending spells to secure her back.

She had, however, forgotten to count how many opponents had been present after she had managed to free herself.

Two were missing. And those two were the lethal ones: Bellatrix Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov. As she soon found out, both lurked behind the door.

Hermione was lucky; as she ran, she had the good idea of taking a firm grip around the doorframe. As Dolohov's Crucio curse was cast, she had a steady support to jump backwards and some one else received the curse instead.

Lucius, at the other end of the room, chuckled merrily! Oh joy! A little party!

As Hermione saw the growing numbers of Death Eaters running up the stairs (obviously there were some kind of Anti-Apparition wards on the house, or else the Death Eaters were just plain stupid), she decided to take the risk of jumping out of the window.

But she had forgotten to check if the cost was clear. And it wasn't.

Bellatrix Lestrange jumped out like a Jack-in-the-Box. Hermione disarmed her. Or at least relieved her of her wand.

This was Hermione's biggest mistake. If she would have thought ahead, she would have guessed it. But in the heat of the moment, adrenaline made all the decisions.

Alas, Bellatrix took out a dagger, and viciously stabbed the young girl right in the back of the knee. Right into the ligaments, where it makes it possible to walk. Bellatrix stabbed Hermione just there.

The young girl fell down on one knee. Hermione didn't stop running/dragging herself towards the window. Bellatrix seized the opportunity to re-stab the girl. Right in the same place, just on her other leg.

Because of the shock, Hermione fell on her bottom. She looked down, a mask of utter and complete horror on her face. She stared at her legs, as if she was willing them to start moving, all by themselves.

But no, she couldn't stand up. She couldn't even crawl!

Absent-mindedly Hermione cast a set of various nasty hexes on Bellatrix, too bewildered to really notice what happened around her.

She was so shocked at the successful maiming of her legs that she didn't even feel the pain. Hermione tried to remember what spell could help her. What kind of spell could rebuild the ripped tissues in her knees?

She had been so absorbed in her own shock she didn't register who she cursed. Bellatrix had passed away ages ago; now, Hermione was unintentionally cursing Tonks.

Ironic.

Finally, she remembered a spell that could fix her legs up in no time.

"- Stoppa att ta ONT!"

Now, here was another thing Hermione should have thought about before going and healing herself; the weapon Bellatrix used wasn't a normal dagger. No, this dagger was a 'Kipukone' dagger. If you tried to heal your wounds, they would reopen straight away, only three times worse.

Now, Hermione was repairing her muscles.

Not thirty seconds after she cast the spell, a blood-curling shriek was heard, followed by a set of curses that made even Voldemort's ears flush red.

And then, before she could control herself, the tears stared spouting from her eyes as quickly as the blood from her wounded knees.

Lucius was angry. Very, **very**, **_very_** angry. Some one had dared- DARED- to hurt one of HIS possessions. Something he had wanted for a long, long time. And now, some stupid psycho bitch goes and ruins Hermione without even asking permission. Not that she would have had it granted anyway.

Voldemort had noticed this. He knew Malfoy's horrible temper tantrums. He had only one option left, and gods did he hate that option; it was so bloody Gryffindorish.

"- Lucius! Calm down! Take her to your Manor, and take care of her. Revenge is dish best served cold. Don't let the girl suffer needlessly."

Lucius only nodded, and walked to the girl. He scooped her up in his arms, holding her tight, feeling his arm underneath her knees become warm and sticky from her blood.

The girl hid her face in his robes and cried. Hermione had no energy left. She just couldn't help but cry. It made her even angrier with herself. Crying was the way of the Weak ones lived. The Strong ones way to cry was to live.

Because of that, Bellatrix would have hell to pay.

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"Crying is the way of the Weaks to live and the Strongs way to cry is to live.

I am so goddamn proud about coming up with that all by my own!

** REVIEW! **


	5. Malfoy Manor

**Authors Note:** Bad news everyone!

Un-betaed chapter!

Answering questions and request time!

Let's start with the flames. They take the most time. And so you know- this is the only time I answer to them; from now on, all flames will be ignores (because I'm too lazy to answer to them).  
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****_Cryin´out Loud_** (if you read this): Well, sooooooorrrry if I had to keep Hermione pretty for the story to work. And you really expect her to get just get taken like that? Hmm? I don't think so.

And no - no shagging! Ew, ew ew, ew! He´s a fictional character and almost as old as my father. Now I have disturbing mental images. MY VIRGIN EYES! Oh- and I really like the " She slices and dices". Can I use it somewhere?

**_Coral 717_**: Erm... thank you? Your opinion is interesting and yes, I might need a dictionnary. AND WHAT IS THIS HABIT OF WANTING LUCIUS TO SLEEP WITH HER? Did I say they had sex? No, really? Have I said they had sex? NO! Sweet Jesus! Control your over crazed libidos! STOP IT WITH THE SEX! Oh yea, and malleable in French means soft and pliable. Clay is malleable. I like that word.

True characterization is important, but like I said before, I write this directly from my head. I twist the people to be like I need them to be. But you can see characters in different angles. I don't think Lucius is power crazed like most people do. This my interpretation of him.

If people are scared, or very anxious about something, their hair can turn white; why couldn't hair show anger then? Its more of a metaphor. You can hold your head in a position that suggest anger. I have tendencies to see things like that (no, I'm not prone to hallucinations. Wait, actually I am) Besides, I'm bad in physics. Real bad.

The "beat the crap out of" was sort of misplaced, true. I needed something sounding like that and I couldn't find an alternative so I put there then.

Erm, I think I pointed out the fact that if you drank the everlasting potion with Polyjuice, it started a chemical reaction that poisoned you.

Your critique is very nice because it shows you think my story is serious. Thank you!

**Ok- time for the nice people! You are all sooooo nice and I always want to update the whoels tory at once but well… Cannot really do it since I re-work some things all the time. **

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__**Sarah**:_ What? Me? Offended? A bit maybe, but honestly, you are right. Author's using such techniques to have reviews is degradation. No worries, no insult taken. BUT - true, review waiting is hell. But oh, better to receive true reviews than some people just write in irritation at you so they could have the continuation of the story.

**_Riley Black:_** I know it's choppy! I know! That's why I usually double update, but this story don't really work that way. I'm trying to update quickly so the choppiness wouldn't be such a burden. And I'm trying to write more. (First 13 chapters are all about 4-5 pages long).

_**MizSatie**:_ Bwahaaaha! I can assure you than more freakniess is going to start soon.

_**Enchantedlight**._ My faithful reader and reviewer! Updaaaate!

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_**_WhoGirl_:** YEAAAAAH! THATS THE WAY (uh-huh, I like it - uh huh. Random Bee-Gees moment)! YOU, BE PROUD!

_**Izabella black**: _Thank you for all your reviews! I'll post soon two news chapters in "Never Go To Bed Angry Stay Up And Fight".__

_**Someonelse** _: Character depth ? I like that! Thank you very much! I like your review because you tell what you like about it. Very nice! Thank you!

**_Perilous_** : Is my story the first Lucius/Hermione you ever read? Oh là là! I am _very _flattered! I have the responsibility of making it a good experience for you.

**_Lone Angel:_ **You flatterer you! You are a good writer as well. Actually, I'm thinking of writing a story but I would need another writer for it. Interested?

**_hotskittles_**Finally an update ! Sorry for taking so long !

**_Mitch 404_**: WHOA! You impress me! Thank you SO much.

**_Fortune the Vamp_: **Happy birthday to youuuu… happy birthday to youuu… Sorry for updating so laaaaate, Happy birthday to youuuu! **C'mon, special dedication time! FOR YOUR SWEET SIXTEEN! (**yeah- there is a point in flattering me: more chapters and quicker updates and longer chapters)

**_Sirael:_**Your wish is my demand. More descriptions ahoy! You're right: the day of the attck was funny and warm, but the ground was wet because it had rained the night before. Lucius has shocking smililarities with some brat! The story is going to be quite stagnant from here on; until the next (nasty) shock I have in store for you! Soory i haven't mailed you- my exam week is finally over. And I agree very much with you: athmosphere and desciptions are important.

**WHOA! **Two pages of Author's Notes. It's wierd to re-read chapters I wrote some months ago. The story has evolated quite a lot. Thanks for the reviews and you know they make me write more! Special thanks for those who have reviewed! And if you review very much tonight, you might even recieve the following chapter as a bonus!

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**My Dirty Little Secret. **

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Victor Hugo once said:" Masterpieces are like wolfs; they don't eat each other up".

Art didn't eat up art; but people, mites, dust and moisture did. Therefore, Lucius had a special designed place in the Manor to keep his masterpieces. The Manor was a masterpiece in itself: the architecture of it was unique.

The Manor had been built 1846 by Zephyr Malfoy. The outside was made out of pink greyish stones; there were big windows all around the house as well as balconies and small pointy towers. The windows were all framed in some vegetation or other; there were made so that people could look inside the house.

When you walked inside the Manor, you couldn't miss the odd tower that was inside the house. It as if someone wanted to build a tower but decided to hide it into a pink, posh, dandy Manor. The Tower was made out of dark granite and when the sun was shining through the massive windows, the tower gleamed because of the incrusted micas in it.

The inside of the tower was the heart and the brain of the house. There wasn't one single staircase in the tower; the ground was inclined so you could go upwards. The tower granted entrance to each part of the Manor and had small windows here and there so you could spy on people.

But there was still _another _tower_ in the tower_. Technically, it didn't exist, but some very well placed charms and transformations had created seven large rooms in the tower. The top one was at the top of the roof, giving a spectacular view if you could reach out to see through the windows that were placed very high up.

This tower inside the tower was called the dungeon, and it was here Lucius stocked his most treasured pieces of art. There had been some problems of course. One part of the tower had to be restored so that animals could live there. Lucius had tried to transform another room into a garden, but it didn't really work as well as planned.

In the end he just started to decorate the rooms and stored up his pieces of art. He changed the places of the objects more than once. To an outsider, the rooms would have looked like someone would have shoved in together things that had no other similarity than their prettiness. Lucius collection was like those ones old grannies made; only instead of collection porcelain cats, Lucius had a full-blown scale of things so beautiful and priceless you couldn't understand how he could hide them away from the world.

As he walked into to the Malfoy Manor, Lucius didn't even hesitate to put Hermione in the dungeon, in midst of his treasures. She belonged there. He knew she wouldn't destroy anything.

She fitted perfectly in the image. She just emanated that little thing that made her glow in a certain, psychic way.

The girl had sobbed his robes damp, and it was now Lucius most treasured memory. The blood sticking to his arms, the scent of her, a mix of vanilla and sweat, and also something sweet, the odour of young pretty girls. And something, a fragrance that belonged to her. All this was now printed in his memory. He would never ever forget this wonderful feeling.

She had cried herself to sleep.

Poor, poor little girl. She had an exhausting day today.

Lucius tidily tucked Hermione under the silken covers of a princess bed that was in the middle of the room. Lucius had instructed the bed to be covered in white satin sheets. White fitted with every colour, or at least it fitted girls.

But Lucius noticed his big mistake as the sheets started to become red from the wounds on her legs.

Hermione would surely be highly embarrassed to discover this the following morning. Lucius made it sure the covers were changed (and stored in another room where Lucius could later go and touch the blood of his newest beauty).

The man sat down on a comfortable chair next to the young girl's bed. He sighed and passed his fingers though his hair as he watched the girl sleep.

Poor him. As soon as he got something, some one else want it too and destroy it.

Lucius knew the Kivukone dagger of Bellatrix well, because he had given it to her _husband _as a wedding present. Obviously, that bloody lunatic psychopath had taken quite a like in it.

Bloody bitch.

Bellatrix would be that soon: bloody. Very so. Covered for once in her own blood.

Lucius wondered for a moment if he would creep under the covers with Hermione. He decided against it. When Hermione would wake up next morning, she might jump to conclusions.

No, better play it safe.

Lucius hid away his wand, fetched every healing potion he had, bandages and a blanket, and installed himself on the chair to sleep over the night

He couldn't sleep that night. He slumbered, half-awake, eyes half open to watch the form on the girl in the bed.

The girl was agitated, and wailed in the bed. Lucius had walked to her three times during the night, and patted her forehead reassuringly. The girl had relaxed almost immediately under his touch, but as soon as he left, she started whimpering again.

Lucius shivered; wanting badly to join her in bed. She responded well to him. But he knew better than that. God only knew how she might misinterpret that gesture. But make no mistake, he was planning to climb in bed with her soon; he'll just give her some time to get used to him.

Dawn had time to rise over the Malfoy Manor before Hermione woke up. Lucius hadn't minded a bit. He had relished the shadows and the light creeping over the girl's face.

Hermione woke up because her knees were paining her. She hadn't passed out; she remembered everything clearly, she remembered each and every detail of what happened the night before.

Therefore, she knew that she was kidnapped, maimed, and held prisoner by Lucius Malfoy who considered her as a gift. Lucius Malfoy who born the same day as her…

This made Hermione wake up definitely. The girl tried to sit up, but the pain in her legs made her fall back again on her back. The bed was soft and smelled wonderfully clean, yet Hermione would have gladly traded her wonderful bed against the lumpy hard mattresses that there were in the Hogwarts' infirmary.

Lucius snapped out from his reverie and inched carefully towards the bed. He walked slowly, just as if she was a scared kitten. His hands were slowly drawn out; he looked blind, searching his way to her. He touched gently the bed and walked closer all the time. He finally fell down on his knees and planted his eyes on Hermione's eyelids.

Hermione tightened the covers around her. She regretted wearing so revealing cloths. She should have worn a pair of ugly pants, a virginity belt, a nun's robe, _anything _to be _ugly_. She felt so stupid, so small, so vulnerable. He could truly do everything he wanted with her, and she couldn't fight back.

Lucius bend quickly down, Hermione covered her face with her arms. But as she saw the little metallic box with a red cross on it, she lowered slowly her hands. Hermione checked the bottles that were in the box, and nodded as she saw the bandages.

She was about to bend down to take a white bottle with 'Antiseptic' marked on it, as the pain made itself apparent again. She couldn't hold back a cry. She had thrown her head back, and tried to blink away her tears before she watched down again. To her horror, she saw Lucius's hands creeping closer to the covers she kept against her.

One aggressive movement tore the fabric from her hands, leaving her in her blue dress. Lucius bend forward, resting his elbows on her bed. Hermione shifted her legs, bending them into the lotus position.

Yet Lucius's hands took a steady grip on her legs, and slowly started spreading them. Whilst he did this, very slowly and delicately not to hurt her, his face approached her groin, watching her with playful eyes.

Hermione swore to herself that she would prefer to kill herself or faint than receive any form of sex from that man. To her surprise however, the man butted her down on her back with his head. He pushed her down to the bed, and slowly climbed on the top of her.

Hermione's heart beat very quickly; her eyes started to deform things around her, her breath was erratic: she was going to faint. Yet she kept herself awake; she refused to be a limp doll.

She was very surprised and his hands took her roughly by her sides and turned her around quickly. She smelt the faint odour of a disinfectant, and bit into a pillow soon afterwards.

He was cleaning her wounds. She guessed she had to be grateful for that. God only knew what kind of diseases and infections she might caught with her wounded knees. Besides, she knew, like the whole wizarding world, of Lucius's mysterious disease. He might infect her with it.

The pain was unbearable. She hoped to pass out, yet she didn't. She couldn't help but to try to kick and scream as she felt her skin being ripped and nipped off; her knees were on fire. Her captor (she refused to dignify him with a name) was doing a very good job actually. She knew how much she had to suffer: the wounds had to be re-opened and then cleaned, then smeared in some potion or other. But as soon as the pain was there, Hermione panicked a bit more.

She had tried to kick, yet her leg was limp. Her leg felt nothing. NOTHING at all. Hermione tried to calm down, but as soon as she breathed normally, another potion was poured on her wounds, making her cry again. The pain tried to drain her thoughts, yet Hermione fought against it by biting into the pillow she hugged in her arms. Her hair started to get wet with perspiration, and Hermione felt ready to throw up.

She thought she heard a distant voice, yet she didn't want to concentrate on it. The voice was sweet and smooth, yet too liquid and honeyed to be pleasant. It reminded her of Draco Malfoy's and Snape's voice. She somehow registered the voice, letting a word or two pierce through her cloud of pain and thoughts.

'I cannot move my feet because I'm in so much pain; it's only temporal'.

Yet after the pain was dulled and her legs wrapped in clean bandages, she still couldn't move her legs. Hermione tried to convince herself that it was only due to the chock or the drugs she received.

Yet as she felt her captor poke her foot, she knew it.

She knew it. It was a feeling similar to the worst childhood memory she had. When little, there had been a stray cat living on her street. It obviously liked Hermione, and it always let Hermione and her parents pet it. The Grangers always left food for it on the porch. It gave in return a whole variety of dead critters as a thank you.

It started to come in to the house. It even napped on Hermione's bed each week end. But one day, when Hermione walked home from school, she felt a horrible feeling in her stomach. She knew something had happened to her cat. And it was true: a car had driven over her beloved cat.

It had been traumatising for Hermione. And she knew she was never going to fully recover from this shock either: she was paralyzed.

Her legs from the knee down couldn't move. She was a cripple; it was impossible for her to ever walk, run or dance again. She couldn't stop this times her tears. This time she welcomed the darkness that invaded her. But in the last moment she held herself back to fall down in the darkness.

He was still on the bed, and his hands flopped her around. She was now on her back again, unable to do anything. His face was approaching hers now. Alarmingly fast.

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Ta-Ta-DAAA! Cliffhanger! I know you hate me now! But c'mon, review, review! Try to guess just what Lucius is going to do.(Very predicatble).(At least for me) 


	6. Philosophical Prettiness

**YOHOOO! PARTY ON! 50 REVIEWS! **50 has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? It's like I received for each chapter 10 reviews! Keep on the good work! It's so nice to have people review!

I'm proud of this chapter for some reason. The end is quickly written. **Perilous** gladly pointed out that I had to write Lucius reaction to Hermione's legs. I had completely forgot it.

**Sorry, sorry, sorry Julie! Triple time sorry! SORRY SORRY SORRY! **

**Perilous: **I am a HG/SS worshipper as well! But for this plot, Lucius was just exactly what I needed.

**Dragonsdaughter1** : Let's hope this story also has a good end ! (Can't assure a happy one, tho).

**CarebearErin**: I like this Lucius as well; he's different from the others, that's why I like him. Read and see his reaction to Hermione's leg loss!

**Gcho831: **I hate cliffie too! Therefore: new chappie!

**The-Sexy-Flower**: Oh my Godness! I'm so truly SORRY I didn't mention you in my thank yous! It's really mean of me! Please, do forgive me. **This chapter is dedicated to you!** I'll be ready to do whatever you want in compensation. Oh- and I just finished reading your both stories. I liked "Ready or Not" the best.

**Sirael**: …. Ok,- I'm scared now. Chapter five is gulp… Perfect? (Are you sure about your mental health?) I feel really, really pressurized about this chapter; is it good?  
And yes, definitely yes, I write the best when Lucius and Hermione interact. The discussions and feelings come very easily.

Pooh! Minor fuck-up here. Sorry. Me bad. I have to correct it somehow. (1/2 later). Phew! Hope I fixed the end somehow.

I've put on some peppermint socks and lit my thinking box: how about a weekly update? Each week one chapter appears? Yay or NAY?

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**My Dirty Little Secret.**

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Art: the more expensive it is, the better it is. Lucius disagreed. Art wasn't always beauty; people killed sometimes art by selling it. Copies were made of one painting; to see one type of beauty made you immune against it after a time. 

Therefore, Hermione was a safe bet; she was never the same. Lucius knew that she now very different from the Hermione who had been in Hogwarts.

Lucius bend down towards Hermione's face. She couldn't look any lovelier than this. Her cheeks were wet, as was her hair, her dress crumpled on her body. Her breasts expanded under her tedious breathing and her lips were very red. The rest of her face was even whiter than before, looking unreal in the sunlight.

He placed his legs and lower body between her legs, and bent down, resting the weight of his utter body on his elbows. Hermione's head rested on only one cushion. Lucius rectified this immediately by dragging under Hermione more pillows.

The girls eyes were closed, her breathing quick, but she tried to calm it down. He saw her eyes move underneath her eyelids. When Hermione was comfortably installed (her shoulders relaxed a bit), Lucius inhaled sharply, taking in her scent.

He exhaled slowly, carefully blowing the air on her forehead. Hermione couldn't stand it anymore and opened her eyes. He brushed his nose against her unplucked eyebrows. He loved how naturally beautiful Hermione was. The only perfume she had on was her deodorant, her calves weren't shaved (the hair was so light you couldn't really see them against her sun kissed legs); she smelled slightly like vanilla soap and milk. She was health. She was true.

"- You are beautiful. Therefore, you are truth."

Hermione's eyes widened, her pupil eating up her iris. Her body tensed. He was rubbing himself against her, kissing and probing her, in mock tenderness. But was it mock tenderness? Maybe he believed in what he said.

His weight, his heat, his presence were intolerable. Hermione would have done anything to have back the force in her legs so she could kick off her tormentor. Alas she couldn't do anything. His elbows were in the space between her arms and torso, but just some of his weight was on her arms. For now he didn't hurt her; but she knew that if she started to squirm, he'll use his body weight to immobilize her.

So she did the only thing she could to create a distraction with: she talked.

" -Beauty isn't a criterion for truth. "

Lucius was slightly taken aback. He stopped his ministrations, much to Hermione's relief. His eyes softened a bit, and he passed his hand in her hair, noticing how soft and unctuous it was. He felt the strange urge to bite into it. Her hair looked good enough to eat. He finally understood what the term 'Visual Treat' triggered in people.

He passed his hand again and again in her hair. It annoyed Hermione inconsiderably. It reminded her of her father; he always brushed Hermione's hair when she was little. Per se, the caress wasn't bad; but the fact of feeling a man old enough to be her father (literally, his son was in her school year) between her legs made her sick in her stomach psychologically. It was incestuous and wrong.

" -Of course it does; what is beauty is truth. The rest is just invention. "

"- The criterions for beauty change."

Hermione searched for his eyes. He felt it and he bent down so that his hair hid them in a white curtain. He bent down so closely, his eyes melted into one and Hermione tried to block her breath from inhaling the same air as him.

" - So does truth"

She couldn't have agreed more. But she didn't want him to know that. The problem with Hermione was that she was an intellectual. She knew how to recognize one; a real intelligent person. Many people are considered smart just because they pretend to understand a situation. They often betray themselves by saying this one sentence: "There is nothing to understand". In the context, it might make one blush and feel stupid; but really, if you think about it, the person is just a wholesome cretin. Intellectuals are individuals that just wait to be contradicted.

Hermione wanted to know everything, but sadly enough, she had come to point where she simply knew too _much_. She wished she still could hope for help, convict herself she had a chance to get away. But she knew also that right now, for the moment being, she couldn't do anything. She could just wait and see and try to keep Lucius at bay all by herself.

Hermione tipped her head backwards, clearly showing her disinterest. Lucius felt this and put his head on her breasts, just for a split second, the time of a heartbeat. He walked off from the bed.

The girl sighed softly in relief and felt for the first time how exhausted she was. He bent down and passed the blanket he had taken from her earlier on her frail body. Hermione closed her eyes, and turned slightly to the side, shifting her legs so they didn't hurt.

Lucius felt the strange urge of kissing her as he saw form in the bed. He bowed, placing a tender kiss on her soft cheek.

The movement was so tender, so pure, so childlike and chaste she almost felt his adoration as a gift. She smiled, seeing the irony of the situation.

"-You are supposed to hate me; your inner Death Eater should be screaming outrage right now.

"- Hermione, you have to try something before saying whether you like it or not."

"- You are talking about your Death Eater membership as if it was food."

"- I never thought it that way. But then again, it is a bit like that."

She curled up, passing the soft, crisp fabric of the blanket over her face, hiding herself. This reminded Lucius of his child days when he waked up his parents really early in the morning and his parents hid under their cover to escape from the sun.

"- No offence, but we will never understand each other."

"- I love things I cannot comprehend."

Hermione's eyes opened violently under the covers. She said often exactly the same thing. This immerged the memories of her friends and Hogwarts. Yet as soon as she saw their faces and felt them near her, she tried to repress them. She wanted them away; she couldn't afford to think of them.

She might do something rash that could end in her being dead. Or worse, - she might start to cry.

"- You are insane."

"- I am not. Being insane is to things you cannot explain why you do them; I can explain why I do what I do."

Hermione nodded, not daring to peek out from the covers. Everything might become too true then. Better she stayed undercover (she smiled at the word game). She was going to hide. But only for now. She will be brave and fight later. For now, she would just rest. Just rest and not talk anymore.

Lucius watched Hermione fall asleep again and when he was sure that she definitely was away with Morphée, he rose up from his chair and silently left the room.

Lucius walked half way down the spiral and then he sat down. The wall of stone was cool against his back and Lucius breathed in and out very slowly. He had a problematic dilemma: Hermione's legs.

He knew they were severely damaged. Although he didn't have good notion of inner anatomy, he knew that Hermione's tendons had been cut off. He also understood that she paralyzed from the knee down to some extent.

This had its advantages as well; Hermione couldn't flee. She was dependent of him; therefore he became the most important person in her life. Of course her loss of mobility would force Lucius to always be around her. But maybe it wasn't such a bad thing; he had a valid excuse to be with her all the time.

But her legs closed a whole spectrum of things. Lucius couldn't run after her or dance with her or watch her swim naked. But in return, she couldn't run away from him. He was lucid enough to realize that Hermione was anything but pleased about this kidnapping. But he was everything she had now.

Maybe, just maybe, her legs being maimed could his ticket for her love and comprehension. He knew she hated him; but if love can turn to hate, can't hate turn to love? But did he really want to love her?

Love is a very natural feeling; very few people can't love. But comprehension, not compassion, but _comprehension _was very difficult to obtain. Often you couldn't define clearly your feelings and to find someone who could understand feelings like you is quasi impossible to find. So, if Lucius could obtain Hermione's comprehension, he wouldn't care if she didn't love him. That would be so much more than some other people would have. But he also knew it will require time.

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**Post Author's Note**: Review, review, review... 


	7. Revolting Ron

**Author's Note: **Yah! Vacation! I'm right now on a little island in the middle of nowhere on the sea surely very drunk singing my voice off and striping naked and swimming in some river. This chapter is unbetaed and published by my mum. I love me mum. Be nice to her. Eventually wave to her from your computer.

**Julie**: I'm in vacation on dead island far from civilisation aw well. Asked mum to update so nice people wouldn't be bothered by me being away.

**Grey Mercury**: Kids are never too young for good, solid angst. I know, I know, it's horrible to see the scorching mistakes I make in my texts. Shame on me, I know. Chapter seven is being posted and is unbetaed due to reasons explained above.

As for your beta-ship…. I feel very honoured, but…. I have to decline. I already have my beta Julie. She was on vacation so she couldn't beta. She's my prime Beta.

**Sateen's Spawn:** Hum… You know, Hermione and Lucius haven't fallen madly in love yet! Kids will come after Lucius proposes to Hermione (in an über kitsch- I mean sweet and romantic way) and where she realizes she's madly in love with him (at least, in love enough to have sex) and there would be the obligatory sweet/smutty chapter describing their first time having sex (3 times in a row, in fact). Their first child would be a girl I think; Lucius would fully understand how wonderful it would be to have children. He would of course help Hermione give birth to it and Hermione would off course NOT have any sort of pregnancy screeches. As for names, I was thinking something like Lucione (It's the fusion of 'Lucius' and 'Hermione', see? Isn't it _CUTE_?). I'm open to your choices though.

**GuardGirl2**: Hoho! New Chapter. More stuff breeding! (Fear an explosion in later chapters)

**Perilous: **New chapter… Mnehehee. I feel like a fic-dealer.

**Gcho831**: Hey! Someone actually liked my word plays! That's awesome!

**Enchantedlight: **Upda-aaaa-aaaate!

**CareBareErin: **Thank you for your point of view and yes- You will read some of the Order dealings in later chapters. Lucius twist situations rather well. And thank you-thank you- thank you for pointing out very obvious stuff I forget. Can you please continue on doing that? Point out scenes I forgot.

**WhoGirl: **Yes! A weekly update would be nice… only that it's summer and I never know where I'll be next day… so… I guess my updates are still going to be all irregular. Hmm… On what day are you born? That'll be the update day.

**The-Sexy-Flower: **I'm happy I managed to make it up. Mistakes aren't that bad really. Hey- I would have a very funny fic idea but I would need an extra writer… Interested?

**Hotskittles: **New update! Chapter! Happy Times! You keep on reviewing like a good fan!

Lala! 62 reviews! How can I ever thank you enough? I am so grateful for your time and reviews. Lala.

**My Dirty Little Secret. **

As Hermione woke up later, it was still merrily bright outside. She sat up slowly, carefully watching where she put her weight; her legs didn't hurt, yet she knew that a false movement would bring back the pain.

"- You had a quite long nap, Hermione."

Hermione checked the window again. True, the light was the one of an early morning. Goddess she had been tired then. She couldn't talk even if she would have wanted to. Stale saliva had stuck her tongue on her palate; her mouth was very dry.

Just as she had thought this, a hand with a glass of water appeared under her nose. She opened her mouth to protest, but Lucius used the opportunity to slip water into her mouth. Hermione spluttered half of the water over herself.

She knew it was stupid, but she felt very dirty suddenly. Not mentally, but literally dirty; she had fought in the same cloths in which she had slept and bled on. Hermione needed urgently a bath; she stank. It was embarrassing; to stink publicly of sweat is surely the worst thing that could happen to her.

During Hermione's Fifth year at Hogwarts, she had had a crush on her friend Ron Weasly. She knew he liked her a bit more than just a friend. She could have been a potential girlfriend to him. Hermione often wished that Ron would finally ask her out. She really liked him, fantasized even about an eventual common future with him. Until Christmas.

Ron had made the fundamental mistake of giving her… perfume. The intention had been sweet, surely, but Hermione had perceived it as a huge insult. She knew Ron didn't think she stank, but receiving perfume made her think this. It would have been okay if the bottle had been small, elegant and containing a nice little fragrance; Ron had given her a one litre glass bottle filled with a yellowish liquid reminding one of pee which stank to the heavens. The 'perfume' smelled like roses, violets and something undeniable chemical (Hermione realised later on they used something similar during Potions class to make insecticide). It smelled like those WC toilet cakes or sprays people put in restaurant toilets. This had killed her crush on Ron.

Hermione shifted her body, slowly trying to sit down so her legs could touch the floor. Just as she tried to stand up (there was still a possibility she could stand on her legs), she wondered where the bathroom was.

There was three doors the room; one of them brought her here, another one was surely a door to a bathroom, the third one…. Went somewhere else. Now Hermione didn't know where to go; her face had been hidden in _his _robes, as she hid her face from the world so she could cry bitter tears. In other words, she had no idea where to go.

Lucius was watching her, and understood her distress. But before he could do anything, Hermione stood up with a determined face. She extended her arms to gain some balance; she stood like a newborn foal, unsure of the strength of her legs. She lifted her knee tentatively, looking a bit like a stork.

But as she tried to take her first step, she lost balance and fell on the floor. Since she couldn't buckle her knees anymore, she kissed the ground in a way that seemed quite painful. Her hands were extended, and she fell on them. A tiny crack was heard, and Hermione's arms glided over the waxed parquet, and now, her head knocked the floor.

Hermione hissed; she refused to cry again. She had used up her quota of tears for the month. He would not see her cry. She didn't have a wand, she didn't have her legs, her forces and strength were betraying her; there was no way he could also see her pride crack up. Pride was the only thing she had left.

She closed her eyes and slowly, very slowly flopped over on her back. She moved her hands carefully, testing if her wrists were hurt. There was a bit of pain, but nothing bad. The little ache was one thing she loved; her greatest joy whilst training her body had been to punch her punching bag with her arm until that little ache started. This pain reminded her of the power she still had in her.

Hermione needed a decent meal and an inner prep talk, and she could try to turn the situation to her advantage.

Lucius winced as he saw her fall. He admired the curve her body made as she fell and how her hair reflected light as it flied around her head. It looked really pretty. Seeing her so vulnerable on the floor, unable to move of her own, moved him deeply. She was his mercy really; he could do anything he wanted to her and no one –not even she- could stop him.

He smiled at his carnal thoughts and walked over to Hermione, obscene pictures posing in his head. But instead of doing something rash, he scooped up the girl in his arms, marvelling the feeling of her skin. The fact of taking her in his arms instead of _taking_ her (rape her) felt much more intimate.

Hermione was surprised and horrified as Lucius picked her up. He slide his hand between her legs and shoved her legs on his other arm. As he lifted her up, her body glided down to his elbow. He held her against him by supporting her weight with one arm between her legs. The feeling of the fabric of his robe against between her tights was repugnant. His hands held her legs at the folds of her knees tightly, thus increasing the pressure of Hermione's legs around his hand.

Lucius walked out her room by the door which had farthest away from her bed. There wasn't a bathroom behind this door; there was a short corridor with huge window panels incrusted in the walls. Hermione turned her head and watched outside.

There was a forest outside the windows; Hermione could see high branches of trees, heavy with apples. The sky was bright but mulled with dirty white clouds. Hermione yearned to be outside at that moment; she wanted to roll on the green grass and collect leafs like she did when she was a little girl. She felt the arm between her legs again, and trembled. It was so wrong.

Lucius stopped in front of the smallest bathroom of the Manor; it might be smallest bathroom, but it had two advantages: the first one was the exquisite statues and architecture of the room; the second element was the sitting bath. Lucius feared what Hermione might do if she was left in a normal bath; she might slip underwater and not be able get to the surface in time.

Hermione had a pleasant surprise as she saw the sitting bath. You couldn't find many of them nowadays. A sitting bath was a very small bathtub with a sort of little bench in the middle, where you could sit. Hermione's grandparents had one of those bathtubs before they moved away from their old two stored house to a retirement home.

Lucius put Hermione on a small white enamel chair, and started to slowly unbutton the back of her dress. He laced off the corset of her skirt and took off the bandages around her knees slowly and delicately.

"- How do you want your water?"

"- Scolding hot."

Her underwear was still on. She refused to get naked in front of him. Her hair was gratefully hiding her upper body. Lucius played with the water taps, and rivulets of hot water streamed out from the tubes, filling the tub with streaming water.

As the tub was half full (or half empty), Lucius bent down over to her and again passed his arm between her legs. Only this time, he held her against his body with his other arm, his own breath short from the emotion and effort. He carried her on the length of maybe two meters, yet it felt much more to both of them.

He deposited Hermione gently in the bath; the water was so hot Hermione's toes felt like they were on fire. She yelped and passed her arms that had been hanging limply, tightly against Lucius's neck. He almost dropped her in surprise.

They stayed there for some time, unmoving, feeling the forms of each others bodies. It was an odd and uncomfortable embrace. Hermione wanted to get off, yet she didn't fight. Rather be held for a moment more than burnt.

Finally Hermione dipped her foot tentatively in the water. It was hot, yet she knew it wouldn't burn her. She tried to glide off the man's grip, but he held close. He slowly deposited her, wetting his own robes, immerging almost with her under the water. However, he took off his arms and sat down on the enamel chair which he turned a bit away from Hermione so she could have her intimacy. But the bathroom was quite small and Lucius had long legs; his chair was roughly a meter away from Hermione.

Hermione bit her lip as she felt the water brushing her wounds. It hurt, yet it felt somehow very good in a sadistic way. Hermione bent down and dipped her head in the hot water washing off the sweat, blood, problems and dilemmas she had for a short time. It was very pleasant to have a nice bath. Even if her captor guarded her.

Hermione shook her head, he heard the prassling sound it made. Water droplets fell on his hair and face. One drop had landed just above his lip, and Lucius licked it off. Although technically Hermione was dirty, the water tasted clean. Clean and healthy.

"- You know, it's odd that you are so nice to me.

"-What do you mean?

" -Usually people are nice so they would be left alone.

"- Hermione, how can you be so sure about that ?

"- It's a fact; facts are the most stubborn things in the world."

"- You misinterpret the situation; but I agree that you are right in that. If you would be an important hostage, you would be right; however you are mine."

"- Nothing ever really belongs to you. That's a thing that everyone should know; it's one of the secrets if life.

"- No, Hermione, the true secret of live is to get involved with one thing completely, and then get interested in a thousand other ones. In other words: obsessions belongs to life. You are my obsession now; therefore not my hostage. So logically I can be as nice as I want to you."

"-You are obsessed with beauty.

"- You are beauty; we already stated that.

"- You know… I thought about what you told me about beauty and truth. There's a flaw in your reasoning; you forgot one thing; truth is like the number zero: it needs emptiness to be true. Truth needs shallowness to be _true_. Beauty, true beauty, isn't shallow."

By time the discussion had ended, Hermione's fingers were wrinkled. Somewhere between talking and thinking, she had taken off her underwear. Now, she wondered what to put on. She refused to stay naked, yet her cloths were discarded on the floor, out of her reach. Luckily for her, there was long, white, old fashioned night gown next to her bathtub as well as towels.

Hermione put on the nightgown when still in her bath, soaking it completely in mere seconds. She lifted her weight with her arms and slipped it underneath her buttocks and around her legs. She was ready.

Lucius turned around and bent down to pick up Hermione. He was a bit disappointed to see her clothed, but got excited by the sensuality it was giving her; the thin wet fabric suggested the curve of her breaths and the dark triangle between her legs.


	8. Hermione's Hair

Lucius obsesses with Hermione's hair. I got carried away here a bit. Really! _Hermione's Hair_

Most of the comparisons are taken from Baudelaire's poem, "La chevelure". This chapter is extremely obsession filled.

I finally start to explain some aspects of Lucius's sexuality! Hooray! I think I'm going to loose quite some readers with the explanations as time goes by. My point of view about pureblood education is radically different from many others.

And in case you wonder… yes, I am a feminist. And proud to say I've been brought up by one as well.

Lalal-la-LAALALALA! New chapter! New joy! New reviewers! Someone gots 77 reviews and it's ME ME ME ME ME!

**Nymphe:** Yes- the word I needed then was masochistic but I couldn't remember it so I put sadistic instead. I'm lazy. Just so you know.

**Stargazer starluver:** Update time. You think my plot is good? Wait until the twist comes!

**Hotskittles:** New Chapter and no fish. I have brought back mosquitoes though. You want one? You can have a whole swarm of them. We fished for three days just to catch one little fishie! ONE! We kept it as our pet before we set it free.

**Ami Mizuno1**: Too good to loose? Here's a new chapter I hope you'll find interesting.

**CareBareErin:** Yeeesh, you're right: it's 'life' and not 'live'. Stupid mistakes. Thank you extremely much for your constructive review. I was pretty proud of the dialogues and I'm very glad you appreciated them too.

But I have to contradict you in a point: I think Hermione is very clean. She brushes her teeth every night and morning (the contrary would surprise me) and she seems to be ery careful with her books. She seems to be a bit obsessed with rules and norms; I think she keeps herself very, very clean, so such things as body odour of bad breath might be embarrassing for her. These things aren't the same thing as make-up at all! Or with hair for that matter; it's question of hygiene.

**Mercury Gray:** Thank you thank, ooooh thank you so much! This chapter is dedicated to you!

**Who Girl**: Whoops… I don't think the person who gave you the present ment to say you stink. (Be sure to check your personal hygiene though.)

**Bitterspice**: Welcome on to my story. You cannot imagine how happy it makes me that some people like my stories.

**JerseySaint19**: Hooray! Another Lucius/Hermione fan! There should be definitely more of their stories I think. Definitely

**Enchantedlight:** My faithful super fan! Story updated for your joy. .

It's sad that **Moi**, the obvious total retard isn't reading this anymore. But have you perceived his reviews? Such teen anger! Such wrath! The reviews almost made me cry (of laughter that's it).

**My Dirty Little Secret**

Back in her room, Lucius put down Hermione on a small vanity chair. It was a golden little thing with a black soft pillow on it. Even Hermione herself had to admit she looked pretty with her dark wet hair and the white dripping nightgown. She looked like an illustration of some heroine from some dramatic love story found in some Victorian novel. Her face laughed for a second on the thought: it was absolutely true! She was what she looked like.

Lucius put a little golden hairbrush into her hand; he took her hand in his and brushed it with her. Hermione kept on doing the mechanical movement alone, brushing her thick hair thoroughly, and wincing as she felt knots. Although her hair was bushy when dry, right now it was only slightly curly, and very long. Her hair came almost to her shouderblades when dry, growing up in each and every direction it wanted. But wet, it showed how incredibly long it was when straight; it brushed her just below her breasts, perfect and dark.

Lucius took out a little bottle of balsam oil from the vanity table and put tiny dollops of the pink, foamy, product in her hair, massaging her scalp. It felt very nice, and even if she had serious and angry eyes and her mouth was a sad line, her face seemed to lighten up somehow. She saw this herself, and tried to stop it, but couldn't. Lucius felt giddy.

Her hair was so wonderful. He could finally immerse in it, manipulate it freely, touch it, smell it, even bite into it. He got very excited about her hair, aroused, even, passing his hands all over it, messing it up. He brought up a lock to his nose and knew he needed more; he wanted to sink into her hair.

Lucius's grandmother had once said to him "Hair is the crown of each woman." Hermione didn't have a crown, she had a forest of miracles; she had the feeling of the night sky in it. It had already so many memories woven into it; he wanted to wave her hair like a flag in the sky; there was a lost world somewhere inside those strands. Some people say their souls could swim in music; Lucius's soul was sinking in her hair; his soul was drinking in her mane. Her hair was a sky shivering with warmth, a dream.

He plunged into it, forever wanting to keep his hands in it, in her heavy hair, where he wanted to plant gems in it, he wanted it to become an oasis, a bottle where he could drink avidly remembrance water. Lucius stuffed some of her hair in his mouth and sucked, keenly flavouring the taste of it. How he loved it! He loved it even more since she didn't give in, letting him search for her all by himself.

Hermione was one of those persons who could make a revolution, bring out people in the streets; yet they would not riot, but dance instead. She could use her beauty unconditionally, without ever knowing the law of her beauty. She was a bit like a blind and powerful machine, mining people with her looks, not feeling ashamed as people blushed and mirrors tarnished due to her beauty. Her worst default was to be smart; people listened to her too much instead looking at her.

All those people didn't know that what they say about life can be said about beauty as well: Beauty brings everything, but reveals us nothing.

Meanwhile, Hermione had stopped brushing her hair. She had stopped moving and breathing as well. Lucius was pulling her hair, twisting painfully, bringing it to his face whilst groaning like a man in ecstasy. He had moved closer to her, forcing her to take support on the vanity table while Lucius breathed in her hair.

Hermione blushed and felt extremely embarrassed and mortified as she felt his pelvis against her back, rubbing and pouncing against her in a slow, brusque motion, making her heart sick.

It made to her clear what he could do to her; Hermione just didn't want to think about it. Her entire body went stiff, trying to repel his touch.

But now she knew that if he wanted to rape her, she just would have to comply. The only thing she could was to hope. Or better, find something she could use as a weapon; something to control him.

As he continued to pounce, Hermione's mind was running over the room, trying to find anything that could of use to her protection. There were some interesting artifacts like the poker, books, even swords were hanging on the walls. But all of them were out of her reach. Her immediate weapons were the creams and vials on the vanity table. She could eventually repel him for some time, yet she couldn't do anything afterwards.

For the first time, Hermione noticed how beautiful the room she was in was. It was quite big, with windows set very highly up, almost touching the ceiling. There was a princess bed made out of dark wood and surrounded by pink curtains and golden cords, a golden vanity table and shelves filled with the most diverse things you could imagine. It was as if everything was just thrown there with no special purpose other than be pretty and shiny.

The parquet was waxed, and Hermione was very surprised to see a walrus skin on the floor. The Walrus's skin was dark brown and wrinkled with little stiff hairs sticking out. She had once been in a sea museum as a child and seen that strange, rubber like skin that was oddly slippery. She recalled reading that walrus's skin is very tough and thick and polar bears must work very hard to chew through the skin of a dead walrus for food.

As she thought about walruses, she thought about otters as well; otters used to be her favourite animals when a child. Hermione loved to think of her childhood because it was truly an idyllic period of her life. It was carefree and light. Hogwarts had been the ending of it; which was good in a way. Good things had to come to end in the most beautiful moments.

Hogwarts had been new and real, although she learned magic there, a thing belonging to common standards of her muggle peers as fiction. Magic usually belonged to people in childhood. Hermione saw Hogwarts with a wise childlike philosophy; since her childhood's magic was over, she better pick up the grown-ups'.

Hogwarts and otters made her think of Harry. Poor Harry; she hoped he wasn't too devastated about all this. She knew how important she was to him, she and Ron. But he had Ron who would cheer him up. Hermione was happy she had talked with Ron many times during the summer, making him more open to psychology.

Thinking of her otter Patronus made her smile. But suddenly, the man behind her bucked backwards, holding her hair tight in his fists, breathless and almost hysteric. This was a nasty tug back to reality and Hermione saw her face in the mirror placed on the vanity. Her eyes were wide and scared, like those of an otter baby being ready to get killed.

She needed a weapon. He tugged at her hair again, this time muttering her name again and again, as if was a mantra and he was in pain. Or worse- as if he were a lover, in the throes of passion. His face was contorted in pure bliss and she felt how his hands trembled.

She watched the mirror again; she saw her face, her perfectly formed face and her dark eyes and hair and she smiled. She had her weapon; she would use it and make sure Lucius, yes, LUCIUS will die of it.

He finally let go of her hair. Hermione resumed brushing it and Lucius (her eyes blinked in disgust) approached his hand again, looking like a small ashamed boy. Hermione presumed he wanted to caress it, put it back to place; he was surely ashamed of having his emotions control him.

Yet was he ashamed? He smiled very happily, reaching out to touch it again. "Your hair is very beautiful. It has a life of its own; you can sense it by its scent."

Hermione briskly turned her head, sending her wet hair on her left shoulder, and planted her eyes in Lucius's.

" I am hungry." She said decisively, wanting to put the last minute and a half behind her.

He nodded and quickly went away from the room, often turning his head to have a glimpse of her. She was truly lovely.

Hermione sat, glad over her first tiny victory; she had some control over him. She started seeing some elements that might be useable. Suddenly, Hermione felt very alone, and shivered underneath her wet gown. She wondered is there wasn't any other cloths somewhere around.

She still felt the warmth of Lucius against her back, burning and massaging her body. Her whole body shuddered very hard. She shook her head and tried to think of something else. One of the three doors was just next to the vanity table; Hermione could open it without a problem.

The door knob was very pretty; it was in a shape of a wing. She passed her hand on the details of it, liking the bronze-like material it was made of. She slowly twisted it, and saw what was behind the door. It was a cupboard big enough to be her room's size at her parents place!

The room was filled with clothes, mainly dresses (_wedding _dresses), in different shades and forms. There was mostly white, a colour Hermione didn't really like because of its vulnerability: white was always dirtied by other colours. It also stood for innocence and weakness. Hermione hated to be thought of as weak. A detail struck Hermione: there was no trousers in the room. Only dresses and skirts and blouses.

These dresses suddenly brought to Hermione's mind a sentence from George Orwell's book 1984. The heroine Julia says following sentence: "Yes, dear, scent too! You know what I'm going to do next? I'm going to get hold of a real woman's frock somewhere and wear it instead of these bloody trousers. I'll wear silk stockings and high-heeled shoes! In this room I'm going to be a woman, not a party comrade."

This sentence came for three reasons in her mind: firstly because of its clear connection between the female gender and a dress as a piece of clothing. The dress made the gender; not the sex itself. Secondly, because her life was being controlled by one man easily comparable to Big Brother. He always kept on eye on her and forced her without using violence to do what he wanted. Thirdly, finally, because her life at this point was like those in that book: someone tried to force a peaceful, non-complicated life upon her.

As her parents had read to her that book the first time, Hermione couldn't understand the hero's yearning for something else. Hermione was still a tiny little girl back then and was always watched over, no matter where she was: her parents brought her to the bathroom, bathed her, walked with her and when she wasn't watched by her parents, her grandparents took care of her. Surveillance a part of her life and Hermione was glad about it.

Years later, she understood the feeling of wanting away, but the idea of surveillance wasn't negative in her mind. It had never been; that's why she stuck to the rules, only bending them when more important rules were applied.

Only now Hermione understood how horrible it was to be watched over. It was irritating and frustrating, yet she couldn't do anything against it. Hermione was thinking of all this, but as she felt herself shake because of the wetness of her gown, she turned away from her thoughts and reached out for dry clothes.

There was a purple dress hanging just next to door, a complicated patterned thing. It looked like one of those Asian dresses, with the madarin collar and the funny knobbly buttons, only it had half long sleeves instead of none. Hermione thought it was very pretty and grabbed it, pulling at it gently so it will fall off the rack it was on. It fell gracefully, and she pulled it towards her.

Hermione quickly pulled at the nightgown she had on, shivering now. When it was finally off, she threw it with a wet plop behind her and grabbed one of the towels Lucius had deposited on the vanity table. She wrapped her hair in it whilst drying her skin fiercely. She wanted it to be perfectly clean and dry, but her frantic rubbing made her skin red and raw.

She sighed irritably and quickly poured some lotion in her hand (she noted quickly its sweet vanilla scent) and spread it evenly on her skin. As she judged her skin was moist enough, she opened the dress's buttons and let out an exasperated growl. Lucius might come in any moment and she was naked.

Hermione forced herself to calm down as she dropped the dress on the floor and passed it on starting with her legs. She had barely time to pass her arms in the sleeves as Lucius walked in. She hastily buttoned the buttons, and pulled off the towel around her head with an aggressive hand.

Only then, she turned around to face Lucius. He held a large tray in his hands, balancing it carefully. There was fruits and white bread on it; nothing greasy and no cereals. Hermione shrugged, she loved the traditional English breakfast with kippers, eggs, bacon, sausages, tomatoes and mushrooms. But she forgot this quickly as she saw the newspapers.

There wasn't only the classical crap paper ''The Daily Prophet'', but the" Quibbler", " Witch Weekly", "Teen Witch Weekly" (Hermione raised an eyebrow at this), "The Gryffindor Gazette", "Potions for Professionals" and "Playwizard" as well. Why Lucius would give her a men's magazine wasn't understandable, unless off course it was for his personal use. Which made Hermione shudder. Disgusting man.

Hermione received a pleasant surprise as she saw a stack of Muggle newspapers along the wizarding ones. There was the Times Magazine, the Guardian, the Express, the Independent, the Daily Mirror and The Morning Star; there was even the Scottish version of Sunday Times!

Lucius deposited the tray on her bed and came to Hermione. She looked different. It was odd to see her like this. When Lucius had left, he had a dark haired Victorian heroine in front of him, but when he returned, his sight was greeted by a young woman in an evening dress, posing like a diva.

He turned back to get Hermione. Her dress made it impossible for him to take grip on her as he had before. So he passed his arms under her knees and arms, gently lifting her to the bed. He placed her on her belly, puffing pillows he stuck under her breasts. He sat down on the bed, next to her legs. Time to nurse Hermione.

Whilst Lucius was occupied in cutting bandages in gauze fabric, Hermione started to ruffle through the newspapers and magazines. She put them in the order in which she wanted to read the news. She first set out the magical news and then the muggle ones. But one magazine didn't join the pile of readable items: Playwizard.

Hermione held the magazine in her hand and wondered what to do with it. She assumed of course that it was a man's magazine. There was a picture of a stylish stool on the cover of it and many articles with titles that seemed interesting enough. She finally opened the magazine and quickly browsed through it.

She was so surprised by contents she let out a cry of surprise,which made Lucius look up. The magazine wasn't a 'men's' magazine with naked pin-ups; it was a semi-political, semi-sport centred magazine with fashion advice! It was a…a….a woman's magazine for men!

"What is it, Hermione?"

"This is… a woman's magazine for men!"

"What? What do you mean by that, Hermione?"

"It contains fashion advice and… and…. Actual articles! About things like sexual problems and different personality disorders! They don't have pictures of cars-ah, broomsticks or naked women!"

"Naked women? In a magazine? In a magazine you can find in a regular bookshop! Ridiculous!"

Now Hermione was very interested in what Lucius had just said. Naked women in a magazine which could be found everywhere was ridiculous for him! This tiny piece of information was quite interesting and showed off a lot more of Lucius than you could imagine. The idea of naked publicity was inconvincible for him. Strange to think; Hermione didn't react to naked bodies very much anymore, they were omnipresent in the muggle world.

This showed how Lucius' views of things was restricted. Keeping this in her mind, Hermione put the magazine aside and took the Daily Prophet in her hands and opened it. Another surprise was in store for her; on the top cover was….

"There's a picture of me!" she said, half surprised, half disgusted.

"I know; rather flattering picture; the article isn't bad either. But I preferred the article written by The Quibbler some months ago."

"You read _The Quibbler_?"

"I read everything involving you."

"But you don't know me; not really."

"To know someone…. Is already to love a bit."

Hermione tensed and didn't say anything as Lucius cleaned her and bandaged her legs. The girl closed her eyes and pretended that it was Madame Pomfrey who took care of her legs. She managed to convince herself so well she could smell the faint odour of lavender and felt the cotton sheets on her body. Yes, she was back at Hogwarts, that's where she was. This was all some sort of bad dream.


	9. Meanwhile & Musings

**Author's Note**: Interlude! Time to know what's going on with the Order. Dialogue chapter.

**Written pro-HBP**; **therefore: Dumbledore lives, Snape's still a good person, Draco Malfoy is still in school. **

Sorry for the delay. I have attended a funeral, worked in a petting zoo, as a professional pyromaniac and as a shepherd. That I thought was spelled 'sheepheard'. Stupid dyslexia of mine.

Since I haven't updated in so long, I grant you a double update. This means, of course, that you have to review twice as much!

As you for mean people out there, stop pestering me and go and terrorize some children by telling Santa Claus doesn't exist or something. (This isn't directed at anyone particularly. I just wanted to say that.)

My thank-yous are rather short. It's just because I'm tired 

**Young Golden Unicorn**: Can I ask you what you do on This place is known to be filled with people who cannot write perfect English. Don't you have like tenths of fits each time you go on this site? Or are you someone as mean as me who surf around and laugh at the poorly spelled titles of fics?

**Not Impressed**: Erm… You do realize you misspelled "sentence", don't you? 'Sentance' doesn't mean anything. Practise what you preach, you orgasmic nucleoneutron!

**AMY!** You little pervert! Don't worry though, some aspects of Lucius sexuality is studied here.

**Drusilla The Wise:** He's supposed to freak you out. If he doesn't, that means I'm a rotten author. Or that you dig psychopaths. … 

**Egyptian Princess:** We'll see how the story finishes. I actually have two ways this story could end and in one of them Hermione can walk again. Only time will tell.

**Piratebloodprincessheart**: Thank you. Thank you so much. You compliment really touches me. You won't happen to know how to cook and clean? Because if you do, I'm so marrying you. (How about we elope? I'd personally love an autumn wedding)

**Gcho**: Thank you, thank you! Two news chapters! Aren't I just too generous? Soon I'll give my guts and kidneys to a third rate medical school and my brain to some creepy New Wave artist. 

**Gingitsune Wings**: Update! DOUBLE Update!

**Jersey saint 19**: Aaah! Someone who loves me! May any God or Goddess or ugly statuette you whorship protect you.

**Ami Mizuno1**: Err.. I cannot reply to that question. 

**  
****EnchantedLight**: Hah! Double Update!

**CareBearErin**: Feminist issues are important. Here's some news from what's going on with Harry and the Order.

"Great plan! Now we have a hostage to take care of!"

" No, Kingsley, Miss Granger isn't a hostage: she's a _gift_ to _Lucius_ from You-Know-Who.

"Big difference. Besides, you contributed a great deal in it."

"- But Severus, surely Lucius Malfoy wouldn't keep her, she's, well, of unpure blood."

" – Remus, might I point out that your pedigree isn't especially clean either."

"- But why did he want her? Surely not to-… Well you know…. "

"- Rape her? Surely not, Nymphadora, it'll be something akin zoophilia by pureblood standards."

"- Don't call me Nymphadora, Snape. Or shall I call you Severus?"

"- You should be called stupid. You could have fought a bit more; you just let the girl go. I don't blame her for cursing you. If the plan would have been carried out as planned, she would be here now."

"- What-if's are useless now. We just have to hope for the best."

"- The problem is, Headmaster, that I have no idea about what is going on with him. And if I have no idea, I doubt anyone else has."

"- I'm glad I performed that charm on her before she left. If he rapes her, at least she won't get pregnant. I can't imagine the poor girl's reaction if she would have found out she's pregnant with her rapist's bastard."

"- Professor Flitwick! You were here all along! I'm sorry I didn't greet you."

"- No harm done, Tonks. I just joined with Minerva."

"- What shall we do now?"

"- Get Miss Granger, out of course! What a stupid question!"

"- Minerva, it isn't that easy. Maybe we should concentrate on Harry right now."

"- I'm sure Mister Potter wouldn't be so hate-filled towards us if we would bring back Miss Granger. It's the last we can do. He has every right to be very angry at us, for Merlin's sake, even _I'm_ furious with us! How could we let this happen?"

"- There were interferences in the plan."

"- _Interferences_? Miss Tonks, you're an AUROR, for Merlin's sake! You're supposed to be able to deal with interferences, not just stand stupidly by!"

"- No need in biting Tonks's head off, Minerva. We need all the help and brain capacity we have to form a new plan. Nothing is going to happen if we just complain and fight each other. We need to unite."

"- Great speech, Kingsley, but where to start? Even Severus doesn't know what to do."

"- Has… Has he ever done something like this before?"

"- Kidnapped or demanded someone as a reward? Well… come to think about it… No. He just asked for dead young girls the last time."

"- … _**What**? _What did you just imply here Severus?"

"- To do **what **with them?"

"- I cannot believe I'd see the day you'd blush, Severus. Usually you always get pale."

"- Sweet Jesus… you can't mean he… had… sexual intercourse with… erm… cadavers."

"- Please tell me you didn't just nod, Severus."

"- That's _disgusting_."

"- Never even as an Auror I heard something as…. As… repugnant and _VILE!_"

"- Who the hell would perform… sex… with a dead body?"

"- Lucius had a very pureblooded sexual education. The first woman he ever had sex with was some maid that had been found dead. The later sexual encounters were with men who taught him how to control his body. They teach him things such as masturbation and female anatomy and…. Erm… sodomy. Only the purest of the Purebloods have this kind of education. Having sex before marriage is a duty for a Pureblood wizard; the bride has to be virgin. Having sex with the opposite gender before marriage is an outrage, hence the homosexuality led between young pureblood boys."

"- … _what_?"

"- You mean…. All the Slytherins are…. Gay? Practising self-gender sex? Until marriage?"

"- Sweet Jesus…. Now I understand why Sirius always called the Slytherins a bunch of flaming poofs! No wonder he was homophobic if this was his sexual upbringing…"

"- Hm… Old education I see. This kind of upbringing was quite 'normal' during the 18th Century in rich, aristocratic upper classes. Are the Malfoys really that rooted with their old culture?

"- Isn't it painfully obvious, Kingsley? The Malfoys are originated in the beginning from France. They settled down in Scotland some three hundred, four hundred years ago. Have you ever heard Lucius talk? He has a faint French pronunciation doubled with a strong Scottish accent. The French is conserved because that shows his respect for his elderly. There is a reason why all the Malfoys have been in Slytherin: tradition."

"- I would have never suspected them to be that puritan. It's so extreme it's almost impressive. No wonder my mum wanted away from that family. "

"- But if Lucius Malfoy enjoys necrophilia… How can we be sure Hermione still lives?"

"- Mister Potter and Mister Weasly would know if she'd dying, Remus."

"- Oh, how so, Minerva? They know thanks to he wonderful Gryffindor connexion they share?"

"- No, Severus, because Miss Granger performed a set of energy spells on them so they could feel her life presence as she can feel theirs.

"- Isn't that illegal? She basically traded life-time."

"- She did indeed, Kingsley. But she's the only one of the three to know this."

"- Harry?"

"- Leave me alone."

"- Hermione needs us to be together in this now; she said it herself before she left; remember what she said? "Stay United, stay together, stay strong, stay with me in my mind and never let go of any of us." That's what she said, Harry. She kept on, repeating it like a parrot. Time after time after time."

"- Well… Well, it is odd, isn't it? I have the feeling that she's choking me with her silence. I never knew how loud silence is."

"- I wrote her a letter."

"- Owls return them without delivering. She's lost somewhere. She's taken, we don't know by whom and if she's still alive."

"- You don't mean that. We know she isn't dead. We will feel it. For now we have to be cool and collected and make sure we focus on what is important."

"- Oh yeah? And what's important then?"

"- Malfoy Senior; he disappeared sometime ago already. I have the conviction he has Hermione."

"- Ron, you don't look good. Are you ill?"

"- I've felt weak lately and I don't know why."


	10. Bloody Baths

I had the oddest of dreams. I dreamed about some of my reviewers! Ginsitsune Wings was a seagull and had a walrus as a friend; Mercury Grey sang the contrary of Queen's song "Bicycle" (thus giving something like this: I believe Peter Pan, Frankeinstein and Superman! I don't wanna ride my biiiiiiiicyyyycle, biiiiiiiicycle.)

I have such a sense of deja vu ! It feels like I wrote this chapter before; but its not so! Wiiiierd.

All you guys freaked out by girls having their periods, skip the middle part.

Oh- I had to put myself in this chapter. If you hate me, no worries, I impersonate a cadaver.

**My Dirty Little Secret**

Everything became slowly routine. Everything was strangely timeless, because the only thing that designated time was the date of the newspapers and the weather outside. It was if she was in a dream, or in a movie, or in a chapter of a book that didn't have an end.

All the days were strictly the same: Hermione woke up, Lucius already there. He nursed her legs, carried her to the bathroom so she could pee. He deposited her back in bed; she brushed her hair under Lucius's hungry gaze. The only things they had said to each other so far was 'Good morning'.

Lucius took Hermione to the bath, passing his hand between her legs and carrying her whilst touching her in the most perverse way possible. She always looked outside the window when he did so.

The water was always ready, Lucius put Hermione in the bathtub and she washed herself with her night gown on. They talked then, exchanging knowledge. Hermione would stay in the water until her fingers became wrinkled. She washed her hair every day; she shampooed it, conditioned it and rinsed it thoroughly. There were always all kinds of vials around her, each of them made in beautiful glass.

They contained wonderful perfumes. They were heavy yet made one's head light. Each and every scent possible in each and every colour of the rainbow were imprisoned in spun glass. The scents were so attractive they scared Hermione. She always bathed in lavender water, sometimes adding grapefruit; these scents were calming. If she bathed in those perfumes, Lucius might take an even more perverse obsession into her. She felt, almost _saw_, what he wanted to do her; those scents might just trigger the thing that would made him do those things.

Lucius would take her off the bath and bring her back to her room, make her sit near the vanity and they would brush her hair. Hermione would close her eyes and pretend to be elsewhere as he rubbed himself against her. Hermione tried comfort herself as he grunted in her by telling herself that he had at least his cloths on; he didn't pounce on her in other ways.

After they brushed her hair, Lucius left Hermione to get her breakfast. During that time, Hermione dried herself and rubbed lotions on her skin and passed on a dress that was in the cupboard (she knew Lucius chose one for her to wear). Lucius would arrive with fruits and bread and tea, carry her on her bed, give her newspapers to read and then he would nurse her legs.

Hermione would read all the wizarding newspapers first. Then it was usually time for lunch; Lucius carried her to the bathroom, sat her down on the armchair he used to be in when she woke up. Her lunches were light food, which tasted good, but was very typical 'girl food': salads, vegetables, white meat. Lucius sat at her feet then, caressing her bare little feet, massaging them.

After lunch Hermione was brought to the bathroom again. Then she took a light nap. Usually when she woke up, Lucius was nowhere to be seen. He surely ate somewhere else, or had some business to attend. During those times, Hermione massaged her calves and feet, made gymnastics and trained her body as good as she could. Her legs still felt sensations; they weren't 'dead'. She had to keep the blood circulation going.

After her gymnastics, she mediated, analyzing her possibilities of an escape. So far, no ideas had occurred to her. When Lucius came back, he brought her to the bathroom again. He read the Daily Prophet and she read the muggle newspapers until dinner.

Lucius ate with her then, bringing her to a sumptuous room crammed with insanely beautiful things. Hermione barely ate then, too busy studying her surroundings. It always seemed to change around her. The 'Dinner Room' was her favourite room so far: Lucius didn't touch her there.

After dinner, if the weather was good, he brought her out on a balcony where he set her on his lap and whispered huskily her name many times in a row. Hermione liked being outdoors, but she could never enjoy the fresh air because Lucius always sat down on the banister of the balcony, pulling her in his lap and let their legs hang in the air. This frightened Hermione a lot, and she always felt iced in fear.

The end of the day was passed in her room, re-reading news, eventually discuss them. They talked, well Lucius mostly talked, about the articles covering her disappearance. It was hot news for one week, almost always on the cover; yet after some time, the articles of her disappearance became shorter and shorter. The only one writing regularly about her was _The Quibbler_. Hermione felt her heart dwell as she read those articles, short, quite meaningless, but written with concealed love. She recognized Harry's, Ron's, Luna's, Ginny's –even Lavender's and Parvati's (she really hadn't known they could write journal articles like that) writing styles in the missives. To read the Quibbler was her greatest joy.

Lucius noticed it and often described how happy she looked when she read those articles. Hermione often blushed then, and felt the urge of justifying herself.

"- It's just so pleasant to know people care so much about me."

Lucius nodded then, often joining her on the bed, caressing her hair. Hermione got use to his caresses fairly quickly; she just pretended to be a cat someone petted. She often wondered what was going on in Lucius's mind. He was one of the most intriguing people she ever met; and frankly, she would have preferred to have him as a side track mystery. But she couldn't afford herself to ignore him now; the more she about him, the better.

"-The planet is filled with murderers; true murderers are people who dare forget those they loved once."

Hermione wanted to contradict him and say it was rich coming out from the mouth of a murderer. But then, he had experience. And she bore the name of a beautiful murderer.

Hermione was confronted with one very strange thing with Lucius: the power of words. She meant the actual amount of words; not their meaning. Lucius talked a lot; Hermione felt strangely strangled by his words. She was Lucius's words prisoner.

Hermione had lived fourteen days of an identical life as she felt the monthly pains at the end of her back: her period would be coming the next day. This scared Hermione. Now only she understood how exactly vulnerable she was. Maybe he would get rid of her as he would see the blood. If she was lucky, he would kick her out; if unlucky, he might kill her. Or give her back to Voldemort. Or get turned on by it and do something worse.

She tried to block out these scaring possibilities. She forced herself to read her newspapers and magazines, getting very white in her face the word 'period', 'flux' or 'menstruation' was mentioned. Lucius noticed how restless she was, but had no idea why.

The following morning, Hermione felt the liquid between her legs, and a quick check under her covers assured her that it hadn't spilled out yet. Hermione tried to move as inauspiciously as possible, reaching out for the little towel she had left on purpose under her pillow.

But as soon as she moved, Lucius wished her a good morning and pushed the covers off Hermione. She couldn't but keep her legs tightly together, clenching all her muscles so hard it hurt. Lucius tried to pass his hand between her legs, frowning when he didn't manage to pass his hand.

Lucius had no idea what was going on. Narcissa and he had slept in the same room in different beds, having each their own bathroom. The upbringing of young men in the old, traditional wizarding society could be compared to the education men received at the end 17th century in the muggle world. The first woman Lucius had seen naked had been a young witch who had been found dead in the tiny lake (or big pond) there was in the back of their yard.

Her name had been Mary; more often called "Maid Mary"; she was the witch who did the laundry. House Elves couldn't wash cloths, but they could iron it. Mary was very nice, a plump little witch with pretty laughing eyes. She had been found in the lake, pale figure floating on the water by a young Lucius.

His father had decided it was time for him to learn the precise anatomy of a woman. They used Mary's dead body for this. This was a common thing to do really. Mary's body was brought to the kitchen, and she was deposited on the main cutting table. This cutting table was very special because it had special slits in it for knifes various sizes.

Lucius's eyes couldn't directly look at Mary's naked body. It was slightly tanned, a construction made out of round, plump flesh, somehow lively, yet blue and cold. He had watched her breasts in awe and his father had given him permission to watch her between the legs. Her sex intrigued him, and he asked if he could touch; Kaïn Malfoy had laughed and told him to go ahead.

The first experience with the female sex had been cold, morbid and terribly exciting. When Lucius married Narcissa, he admired her because she was as dead as Mary in bed. She didn't moan, or scream, or whimper when he went into her. Sex was always something rather embarrassing to Lucius. It was supposed to be exciting and real, but it was just cold. It was like masturbating by pouncing into another body instead in one's hand.

Therefore Lucius had no idea about the female sex; he had even less idea about such things as the menstrual cycle. As he finally forced his hand between Hermione's leg, he was surprised to feel a wet fabric.

He panicked as he felt a liquid ran down his hand; Hermione was crimson red, hiding her face in her hands. But the true moment of horror was when he saw the red spot forming just underneath her pubis on the nightgown. Hermione was bleeding.

"- You're…. wounded. You're…. er…. Bleeding. You know, down there."

"- Yes, em, I'm menstruating."

"- No, you're _bleeding_."

"- I know! It's totally normal."

Hermione removed her hands from her face and saw Lucius's puzzled face. His eyes were questioning her, showing his surprise. Hermione knitted her eyebrows and bit her under lip. At that moment, they both understood from just how different societies they came from.

"- This happens every month. As long as a woman menstruates, she can become pregnant. And when a woman is pregnant, she doesn't menstruate until she gives birth to the baby."

Lucius watched her crestfallen. What? _What_ was she talking about?

"- How can it be you don't know about it? You were married! It happened to your wife each month! Didn't you notice?"

Lucius shook his head.

"- Didn't you sleep in the same bed?"

Lucius shook his head again.

Hermione couldn't believe this. Where did she land? There is no way this man could ever rape her! (Or then again he might just want to live out his repressed fantasizes with her.) Where was she? Did she go through ages? What year was it, what _century_?

She relaxed a bit her legs. They stared to ache quite badly now; she didn't want cramps. Bad mistake- Lucius took the opportunity to pass his hand completely under her, twisting and pulling at her panties, slipping in his hand. He felt the sticky substance around his fingers, and it sent a heat wave although him.

Hermione, scandalized to feel his finger inside of her, punched him in the face with her trustworthy right hook. Lucius was so surprised that he took out promptly his hand. His cheek hurt, his tongue was bleeding, his head and groin throbbed and his head felt as if it was consumed by flames.

They went to the bathroom and Hermione glided to the water all by herself and washed herself between the legs straight away. She was very angry and felt humiliated. She closed her eyes and sank her head in the water and scream out her frustration.

Hermione was _definitely _not a girl who often swore or used cursing words for the fun of it. But now she felt definitely the urge to scream out in anger.

"- Fuck, fuck, fuck the _FUCKING _Order. Fuck Dumbledore, _fuck_ Snape, _fuck_ plans, _fuck_ schemes, _fuck_, _fuck _schemes. And fuck Dumbledore some more."

Lucius heard an odd bubbling sound and strong plasking sounds. Hermione was obviously hitting the water with her hands and screaming. Lucius stayed where he was, docile as an old guarding dog.


	11. Tampering Tampons

**Author's Note**: Fun time! Lucius buying tampons!

Ok, thanks again for all people who reviewed. Chapter 9 was written in 45 minutes. It's just a complentary bonus. A 'meanwhile'.

Here's a new chapie and I'm totall spacing out, so the answers are rather short and badly written. Never mix G&Ts with Tequila. And white wine.

Don't be too angry or confused with my answers.

** Kittykat:** Thank you. I'm happy my writing is different.

** Kitty:** (I don't know if Kittykat and Kitty are the same person) Humm... There's a few other twists coming up. Some of them you _definitly_ wouldn't have expected.

**The-Sexy-Flower:** Like said, quickly written chapter, the chapter n°9. I tried out a new style that came out very clumsly. I hope this one is better.

** Bianca:** Thank you so very much! Your review is lovely and I'm happy that my fic is actually provoking deeper thoughts. I'm also happy that the dimension I try to put in this fic reaches you.

**Whogirl**: You're right! From now on, I'd try to update more.

** EnchatedLight:** New Chapter.

** Gingitsune Wings:** I have no idea what my dream was about, really. Here's a new chapter. I also found my las chapter quite funny. Hehe... I could just imagine Lucius whining like a toddler. That actualy reminds me of one story from my early childhood: My cousin (7 years) told me when I was a little girl (5 years) that when a girl hit puberty, her breasts started bleeding. Goosh, this was random.

**JerseySaint19**: Double updates are GOOD! I shoudl do it moreoften, hummm?

** CareBearErin**: Oh yes, I have to admit I took things quite far by making Lucius have sex with a corpse. But it's also very symbolic: it makes a huge impact on you when you read and realize it. I don't like it when people make kidnappings sound easy; they're not. Human connections (not connexions) are never simple. Fics, or books and movies in general, have the bad tendency of making people say stuff and understand situations they wouldn't figure out in real life.

Ooooh! And I hate it how people; girls, forget about the menstrual cycle! It's a huge part of our lives. No one ever mentions it! NEVER!

Oh, and I meant 'plask'. Not 'splash'. When you're angry, you hit the water violently and it goes 'plask'. The 'k' makes it sound angry. I love making up words.

** Earth Guide**: Yes, yes it's rare to find people coming up with a girl's periods. Here's anew chapter. Sorry, I was in London on vacation and partyed quite baaaaadly. I had to recover from it and now I'm back on the computer. The next chapter comes soon.

**Anna:** Yea, chpater 9 is far from being good. Poo.

Oh yeah, before the fic goes on.

I'VE GOT OVER A HUNDRED REVIEWS! YEAH!

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**My Dirty Little Secret**

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Lucius watched his fingers in awe: they were covered in her blood. Hermione had been so angry with him that she had bombarded him with soap bars until he left her alone in her bath. He had to comply and exited quickly.

Maybe this was the 'Women's Mystery'; he with his old fashioned, slightly naïve way, believed stupidly it was a woman's psyche.

Lucius rushed off to Hermione's storage room. It was a room entirely dedicated to Hermione; pictures, articles talking about her; the clothes she wore, the sheets she slept in, even the water she bathed in. Everything that was hers; everything. He had the perversion of watching her sleep; he took pictures of her then. She was at her most innocent then, her most beautiful. When her guard was down and she was simply…a girl.

He wiped his fingers carefully on a white cloth which he put on jar. He slowly marked the date on it before storing it on an empty shelf. Something more he could keep that was hers. Although his fingers were clean now, they still smelled like her. He couldn't help but to remember the feeling of it all. Now he felt the desire of feeling once more. A stupid carnal feeling.

Now he wondered what to do. He needed to get her something to stop the bleeding; but since it was a natural thing, no potion he knew could stop it. This meant one thing: time to go for a trip in the Muggle world.

Lucius put on a pair of long johnsons (the only thing akin a pair of trousers he owned), a shirt and a long robe which looked like a coat on. He took his purse and walking cane and left with his cheeks red. How the hell was he supposed to survive this? How was he going to explain this? How, how, how? His Slytherin senses told him to let the girl find her own solution; his other side told him to go and get her 'tampons' and whatever else she needed.

Besides, Hermione's disappearance has been signalled in the Muggle world as well; better not let her out. He couldn't just let her bleed; how long was it going to take? She might have explained her whole menstruation cycle briefly, yet Lucius had no idea just how long it would take. Days- weeks?

He walked briskly out, fighting the October morning. His pace was quick but alert. Arriving at the Manor's gates, he opened them and departed quickly into the small forest which bordered the nearest muggle village.

He was an unusual figure, but they knew him. His appearance wouldn't be found too strange; he went down there once in a while. A young artist, a very talented woman, lived there and Lucius visited her each month once. Her paintings were pretty and bright, peaceful lines painted on leaves and dried flowers.

Lucius passed always by the tiny store there was and brought her flowers. The man who held the shop loved flowers and combined his grocery store with a flower store. The bouquets were lovely and the man who held the shop liked Lucius. He was an imposing figure, tall and thin, but he lost of his seriousness once you saw the tights he wore.

The shopkeeper was very surprised to se Lucius so early in the morning: he was stamping on place just as if he needed to use the toilets very badly. He was the first customer today; he was there even before old Edna, an old granny who had came to the shop ten minutes precisely after it opened.

He was surprised to see Lucius so early in the morning. Especially since he walked pass the flower arrangement and walked straight to the hygiene section, his face set tighter and angrier than ever before. He heard him rummage through shelves, letting things drop and hissing curses under his breath.

The shopkeeper itched to go over and ask if he needed help. But it would be too indiscreet. So he did what every tattletale did: send someone else to spy on Lucius. He had the perfect candidate for that: his niece. She was a grumpy teenager with bad skin hidden under white pasty make-up and facial piercings. He didn't need to tell her; she was attracted to Lucius like a moth to a flame.

She strolled towards him dragging a wet mop with her.

She could have never guessed the scene that was unfolding in front of her. The cool, white-blonde haired man with a long coat was holding in his arms… the whole rack of feminine hygiene in his arms.

"- What the-….?"

The noise was raspy, sharp, high pitched and slow. It was horrible enough to a normal ear to hear; imagine Lucius's hypersensitive hearing. He dropped everything he had managed to balance in his arms to cover her ears. If he thought that Narcissa had a bad voice, he had never met this girl. Oh my, wasn't there a law against such people?

The shopkeeper, hearing the noise and his rude niece's unpleasant nasal noise rushed to see what had happened. He froze like his niece had, watching tampons of various sizes and hygienic pads littering the floor. The detail that shocked them the most however, was the packet of knickers he held in his hands.

What the_ hell _was going on?

"- Excuse my niece, her voice is kind of unpleasant…"

That was an understatement. Lucius nodded and slowly bent down to pick up the pads and tampons, face blushing for some odd reason.

"- Who are does for?" she sounded like she was the possessor of a bad cold.

Lucius shuddered in pain again. What an ugly voice, horrible! Hideous! His Slytherin senses had prepared a ready story he let flow from his mouth naturally.

"- My own niece; her period started."

"- Well, I don't think she needs so much hygienic stuff. You have enough tampons to last a year with."

Lucius was taken aback from this new piece of information. Well, it was good to know. The shopkeeper gave him a little basket and he threw the products there along a pair of frilly pink knickers. He bought those on a whim for Hermione. The underwear she had used underneath her skirt had been a shocking shade of scarlet.

As Lucius was paying, old Edna passed the door with her rollator, casting a long look at Lucius. Lucius was looking rather interestedly at the shining contraption she was using to walk. It was a think looking like a metallic praying chair on wheels.

"- Does those things exist for paralyzed people as well?"

Lucius pointed at the rollator, earning a smile from old Edna. Finally someone who showed some interest in her old condition!

"- No, I fear only wheelchair exist for paralyzed people. But there are special training centres where they use things like parallel bars to train people's upper body. "

Lucius nodded. Using muggle methods would be the best thing to do. For now, he was still under heavy Ministry surveillance. Kidnapping a Healer would surely bring Aurors to the Manor. And go and ask for one was out of question: in no time the Order would know where Hermione was.

So the only thing he could do was using muggle replacements. Now he had to find a wheelchair. Whatever that was. Judging by the name, it was a chair with wheels. But you never knew what muggles meant with their words. They call an aubergine 'eggplant'. Elevator didn't only go up, but down as well: ridiculous! He had better find one of those wheel chairs and just steal it like a good Slytherin he was.

"- May I know why you ask?"

Lucius had zoomed out. He grabbed the two plastic bags with feminine personal hygiene and girly knickers before answering.

"- My niece has broken her leg, but she's so clumsy she hurt her foot yesterday night. I don't want her to exhaust her arms too much." He tried to act the over protective uncle- the woman nodded, smiling, not hearing half of what he said.

"- Go to the hospital; they'll lend you one."

Lucius nodded and exited the shop, walking away briskly in the wind, two plastic bags in stark contrast with his cloths. He walked in to the only pharmacist of the village, annoyed to see how much people there was there. But then, his eyes were solicited by a shiny thing in a corner.

It looked like a pressed together cage like stool. On wheels! HA! A wheelchair! Success! Lucius walked towards it, grabbed it and just left the store as quickly as he came, concealing the shiny thing underneath the two plastic bags. It had happened so quickly no one really registered what happened.

Outside, Lucius rushed quickly back to the forest, double checked no one was watching, and dissaparted silently back to the Malfoy Manor, quickly crossed the gate before peeking out to check if someone was guarding. No one there.

Lucius quickly rushed up to Hermione, plastic bag and knickers in hand. After he would master the wheelchair, he would give it to her.

Hermione's water was unpleasantly cold when he came back, excusing himself many times in a row. He charmed the water away and took off Hermione from the bath so he could refill it with fresh, warm water.

Hermione was slightly embarrassed by all this. She was for the first time naked in front of Lucius, who had noticed it quite quickly. He didn't touch her, but she could just feel his eyes on her, exploring her skin, always peeking at her pubis.

His hand was so suddenly between her legs it hurt. Blood had dripped on the floor. Hermione felt humiliated, insulted by her gender as he touched her. As he tried to pry his fingers into her, Hermione smacked him as hard as she could on his arm.

Lucius swore in pain. Hermione was now looking at him with such deep disgust he felt sorry. He already made the mistake once. He should have known better than try again. He picked her up by the armpits and put her in the bath, walking out from the bathroom, ears red.

As she called him back, she was dry and dressed in a clean nightgown. The pink underwear was visible through the material.

After that day, Lucius held himself at bay, going only to the bathroom when she was finished. A shelf in Hermione's storage room stared slowly to get filled with her own periodic blood. What was more personal than that?

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Post Note: Hehehe.. How disgusting can one be:) 


	12. Alarming All Saint's Day

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**Author's Note**: Hehehe…. Time to submit subplot here. Dark, very dark things and secrets are going to be released soon. Hehehe. You are going to be so ready to kill me after you read next chapter. Hehehhe. Evil plot. Very evil. Can't even imagine what I'm going to have made done our heroes. Hints here. Hehehe. Heh. Cough, choke choke choke, cough

Yes, yes,- my hinting is very indiscreet. This chapter starts a whole new era in this fic. Ha-HA! Now people are going to hate me even more! This is so much fun!

I love all of you who criticized me! Who told me I'm gross and disgusting! It's such a great honour of knowing how deeply this fic touches you to the point you loath it. It's a sign of good style, I think; you get so concerned and repulsed by my writing that you actually can feel Hermione's emotions! Yes, I am good.

(Self loving **doesn't **stink.)

**Rockprincess:** Oh, yes, last chapter was particular, wasn't it? Gross and wrong and Lucius is deviously obsessed. But I think it was brilliant. So many complaints! It can only mean people are touched by my writing! Oh joy! And also, special thanks to you; you reviewed first.

**Hotskittles:** Yes! Yes its disturbing and wrong! Rape is wrong and so over-used by dark fics that I had to use another method of making Lucius psychopathic. I obviously hit the jackpot.

**Hanasaki Kaguya: **Oh… But I love you in _that way_. Very much so. Yes, I do my little lemming of luuurve. I'm showering myself in the admiration you give me. I still hope you love me after this turn in the story.

**Random Person I don't Know: **Thank you for your review. I know you, I think. Aren't you that scary girl who doesn't wear shoes and has a banana as her best friend? Coz if you are, you're so cool. Seriously. I worship you.

**Enchanted Light**: Thank you for your review which comes to me as regularly as the sun. Or the tide. Or a dustpan in my room… Wait, cross the last one.

**CareBearErin**: Oh, yes, I did somehow change the 'sensual, sexy Lucius' into something not sexy at all. I'm breaking stereotypes here; I'm so glad about that. I made him quite intriguing and disgusting at the same time; it's a lot of a challenge actually. That last chapter was very good, albeit gross. This chapter starts a new plot twist and I'm not sure if anyone is going to like it. And yes,- it was much fun to write about Lucius lost in the muggle village.

**Nymphe14: **Yes, ew, ew ,ew I know. But isn't his obsession becoming very sweet? Or is it just me being a odd again?

**MW**: Remember this from chapter 9: Order confused, Lucius's odd sexual upbringing (no pun intended) and Harry nad Ron's connection to Hermione. Amen. Oh, and thank you for your lovely comment,; it really makes me glad to know that people enjoy my writing.

**AFH:** Yes, I understand you; finding out how Hermione would react in this situation wasn't an easy task. This is my interpretation; I think it'll come pretty close to the truth. Oh and about your odd attraction tot his story can be explained through the law of S&M porn: it's dark, dirty and uncomfortable, but what the hey, you watch try it anyway.

**Laerwyn**: You love it? Have some more.

**Victory 175**: You bear your name badly; I have won over you! And who the hell thinks they are going to get married? What is this horrible obsession people have with marriage? It's the perfect setup to make people hate each other. (If you're intrigued about this, send me an e-mail and I'll explain why marriage is BAD). And Ron intended to insult Hermione with the perfume. Absolutely. Don't even think against me, I'm always right. (That's sarcasm, if you haven't understood it)

**JerseySaint19:** Ha! New chapter who is all odd. And paradoxical.

**Kiki303**: Yes, it's disgusting! But so damn pucky its so bad it's gone up to good.

**TheSexyFlower**: Oh, yes, I do have a certain talent to write gross and wrong things… Hehe. My exams start soon so I won't have to write much; sorry.

**Hahahaevil**: HA! I'm evil incarnate! And gross! My dad's pictures is on tunatins and vacuum cleaners: he's SATAN!

**Caley:** Oh yea, That'll be bad if Draco discovers it all. But you know what would be better? That Harry has a dream about Hermione being imprisoned, he rushes to save her with Ron and half of the members of Shonen Knife just to discover Lucius actually is a fanatic fan of _The Darkness_ and get all hypnotised by their crap music. Then, the Order will strike in, having a counter attack prepared with 300 boom boxes playing German Folksongs. The Darkness and Lucius assemble themselves into one super robot, an idea they stolen from the Power Rangers and transform into one huge robot that dances like Michael Jackson. Hermione, meanwhile, would have made a deal with the spirit of John Lennon so she could walk again, but she'll have to fight non-violently aside the Order as a price. Seeing her friend's brains melting out from their skulls, Hermione would stuck tampons in their ears and show them episodes of My Little Ponies. The Shonen Knife regain their normal IQ (-74) and use their ESP powers to call for help. Luna Lovegood, Oliver Wood and Hannah Abbot as well as three reporters from NME and the Pixies answer to the call and arrive to the rescue. The fat singer from the Pixies eats up Lucius and Justin Hawkins, thus destroying the robots legs. The rest of the Darkness are being eaten up by a herd of Alsatian beavers who happened to be nearby. Our heroes would enjoy their victory until the fat guy from the Pixies suddenly would have the odd urge to wear cat suits. Suddenly, Hermione realizes that Justin Hawking has invaded his brain and commanding him. Since she's forced to be pacifist, she saves the situation by reading '_Moby Dick'_ aloud. Whilst the fatso's sleeping, the Shonen Knife handcuffs him to a rhinoceros statue made out of ivory. The Order would arrive, exorcise Justin Hawking away. But just when he's about to die, he cries out for help from his soul mate, Lord Voldemort. Voldemort arrives on a steamship conducted by Dashboard Confessionals. A herd of adoring fan girl attacks Harry who faints because of their whiney voices. The reporters of NME release a hot wave of streaming sarcasm that hypnotizes the Death eaters, thus enabling Ron to release his deadly farts on them. One quarter of them die, another quarter faints, and the third quarter cough their lungs out. The rest cries for mercy. But Oliver Wood, followed by the hysteric fan girls, sends them on the rest of the Death Eaters who all die because the fan girls molester them so badly (they think they're the members from HIM and rip their hair, cloths and skin off). Voldemort, seeing that the situation turns against him, tries to escape. But Lona Lovegood charm up a stage and the Shonen Knife,- with Hannah Abbot on the bass, start playing their happy music. Everyone start to party and jump on and down on the Death Eaters' corpses. Voldemort, understanding how life can be good, turns back to Tom Riddle. Just as he runs towards Harry to hug him, everyone decided to beat him up GOOD. They do so and Voldemort expires after a painful death caused by being lapidated with acorns. Dashboard Confessionals get lynched on a stake. The end. Everyone is happy. Hermione marries Oliver Wood, Harry turns gay and lives happily with Lee, Ron proposes to Hannah Abbot, who runs away with Luna Lovegood. Everyone is happy and safe.

_The End._

That'll be hell interesting.

For the rest of you, here's the rest.

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**My Dirty Little Secret. **

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Ever since Hermione had her period, there had been an embarrassing silence between them. Lucius didn't touch her indecently like he had before. She bathed alone, brushed her hair by herself, and dinner was taken in complete silence. 

This annoyed him inconsiderably. He had the impression of living with Narcissa again. Something had to be done against this or he'll assure that Hermione would come to a miserable end, just like his ex-wife.

They started to talk again on All Saint's Day, after almost four weeks of stubborn silence. The day was grey and rainy, but strangely colourful as well, yellow, orange and red leaves dancing in the sky.

Lucius had brought Hermione to her morning bath, per usual. Lucius noticed the red spot and quickly exited. He leaned his back against the bathroom door and waited for Hermione to finish bathing.

Hermione knew what day it was. She watched the thin rivulet of blood coming out from between her legs. She shook her head, disgusted. How dared she? Hermione closed her eyes and turned her head away.

Her eyes settled on the bottles of perfume and oils. A black bottle with red oils was the farthest from her. Hermione delicately took it and admired it. The surface was perfectly smooth, small bubbles were in the glass and the cork of the bottle was in a shape of a crook.

Hermione passed her finger under the crook, pulled at it and got punched just between her eyes by the memories the perfume woke in her.

It smelled like watermelon, the synthetic kind that smelled like fresh cut grass if you breathed it long enough in. But it smelled as sand as well, and like stale vanilla ice-cream. It was an odd combination, very fake, very aggressive, very childish.

It shook up so many memories in Hermione; it reminded her that she had been true to her name. She saw summer under her half-closed eyes, green meadows so bright it looked fake, trees and flowers showing off their colours in a fit of indecent natural pornography. What was a flower? It is a good looking, well disguised penis. In summer, nature showed off its bright genitalia and people took off their clothes as well, making summer the season of exhibitionism. Nature was vomiting up its life out, in a display most people would lovely and even beautiful. Those who didn't (men) often ogled the naked people surrounding them with a perverse pleasure.

Summer was also the month of agony for most of the people. How many men have turned bitter because of the young girls walking around in tight bikinis? How many hearts broke in summer? Countless. Summer is a cruel season, the one everyone looks forward to. Proof that people are masochistic.

The bottle dropped from her hands. It fell in the bath, liberating even more of its power, tinting the water red. Hermione bucked backwards and didn't care if the bottles around her smashed on the ground.

She was a child again for a moment and remembered _him_.

Lucius heard the noises and walked quickly into the bathroom, very concerned about what might have happened to Hermione.

He was very surprised to see her, one arm extended into nothing, the other on in water so red it looked black. Her hair was wet and clinging to her body, forming odd snakes that coiled around her breasts in swirls. Her chest did rose quickly, pulling out her breasts. Her eyes were half open, her mouth open enough to see her front teeth. Perfect picture of bliss.

Lucius walked carefully to Hermione, head feeling dizzy from the perfumes that were like clouds around his head. The dark water was like liquorice around her.

He touched lightly her shoulder and she opened completely her eyes. They were so big, so unique, so perfect Lucius felt his heart being broken. Her eyes were very dark, almost black, so overwhelming he could barely breath. Her beauty was choking him. Her eyes and the smells in the room accorded perfectly.

They were alive, so filled with life it was beyond it. There so dark, so shiny, it looked like she imprisoned a star in her eye. Her eyelashes very perfectly curved, her smile ironic and free.

But the thing that shocked him the most, were the message he could read in her eyes. There was joy, perverted cruelty and love, pure, undiluted love, in them. Lucius couldn't understand them. They were eyes of a spoilt queen-child.

She passed one finger on her slender throat and whispered almost something, but put her hand before her mouth before Lucius could hear it. She was so deeply immersed in her fantasy or ecstasy that she didn't see Lucius.

Gradually she came back, eyes becoming hazel again. Her hair started to get off her body because it dried, the perfumes escaped through the open door. The moment Lucius just witnessed was gone.

He picked up Hermione from the bath, letting water drip from her body in thin red lines. Her body was slightly red, and smelled strongly of odours Lucius would usually find repulsive, but on her, due to the moment that just passed, were mystical now.

"- Lucius. Could you bring me candles and flowers? It's All Saint's Day today and I have a friend to think of."

Lucius only nodded, slightly wondering whom she talked about. He watched her carefully, trying to keep his eyes from staring. He saw fugitive memories run in her eyes and she smiled, smiled to the world she was in at that same moment.

"- What are you thinking of?"

"- A deceased friend."

Lucius nodded and continued to walk. He hated when people could immerse themselves in memories of dead people. It was unfair for the living: you couldn't fight against someone dead. Through their deaths, they become immortalized, jaded in one's memories. Through their dead, some people became more alive to you then they had became during their time spent living.

He knew then that the only way he would die would be by the hands of Hermione. He wanted to leave an indelible mark on her that would never fade away.

Lucius deposited her on her vanity chair as he noticed she was naked and knickerless. He quickly walked into the huge cupboard and took out a fresh pair of underwear for her. He had to pass them on all by himself, brushing his hands on her calves and tights. He behaved, not touching her indecently.

Hermione was oddly passive, trusting him completely. He saw by her eyes that she wasn't there. He rummaged through the vanity tables drawers and took out a packet of tampons he opened and put one in her hand.

She let the white thing fall on the ground. Lucius picked it up again and put it her hand. She let it drop again. And again. And again. In the end, Lucius crouched underneath the vanity table and protected already now his face.

His hand touched her, yet she still didn't react. Lucius started to get scared now. He didn't want a shell. He took the tampon and wondered what the hell he was to do with it. As it slowly dawned on him, he was staring at the thing as if it was a rival to him. Which complete pervert had invented this thing? Didn't it hurt to stuff this…. Thing down… . there?

Lucius blushed and tried to snap Hermione back to reality. He muttered a half hearted apology before stuffing the tampon somehow into her. Somewhere, deep inside himself, this made him scream in a perverse delight. He penetrated her and he actually did her a favour.

He quickly tried to rise up from under the table, but bumped it painfully before managing to extract himself from underneath it. Hermione held her face in her hands and watched outside through the high windows.

She smiled a perfect smile, head in the clouds, escaping him, left the Manor with her soul. He wondered what was powerful enough to affect the down to earth Hermione. She had always both feet on the ground, facing life with facts. Then, then he remembered her eyes. Her wonderful powerful, selfish, loving eyes.

He understood suddenly where she was. She wasn't escaping outside: she was inside herself. Suddenly Lucius felt very alone and was jealous because he wanted to go inside of himself. But he didn't have Hermione's willpower nor memories. So he rose up and placed himself behind Hermione and took up a brush and passed it trough her hair.

But as he brushed her hair, he slowly saw outlines of old memories building up behind his eyelids. He saw his mother's face. Not the one he always remembered, he usually saw the face of her portrait there was in the real Dinner Hall. No, this time, he saw his mother at her loveliest, laying in cold snow, hair and blood around her head, face white, mouth smiling.

He felt a hand in his own hair, a hand caressing his head. His father was there, somewhere behind him. And suddenly all kind of memories came to his mind, some of them wonderful, other ones sad.

In no particular order, he saw his son's first steps, he actually remembered he had a son, Draco, a thing that had completely forgot, then he remembered Mary, Maid Mary, his first encounter with the female genitalia, his father's laugh, autumn days spent with his mother in the Drawing Room, Severus's eyes, Tom Riddle's smile.

How could he have forgotten so many things? It was odd and somehow painful to realize how time passed. He now remembered his age, 42, and Hermione's, 17. Suddenly, everything seemed pointless.

He shook his head and watched himself and Hermione in the mirror. She was back as well.

"- Where were you?"

"- Inside memories. Today we celebrate death. I had to visit someone in my mind. I do it every year, you know."

"- Are you alright?"

"- Mmh? Yes, yes."

He resumed brushing her hair and slowly braided to, a thing he had forgotten that he knew how to do it. She was so odd yet so rational it was astounding. Maybe her captivity was driving her slowly crazy. No. Lucius preferred to think she finally gave herself time to consider problems and things she didn't have time to deal with usually. Or didn't want to think of.

Obviously Lucius didn't know that basic mathematical rules don't apply in talked language. In maths, two positives, two plusses, multiplied by each other are always positive. Two negatives multiplied by each other made plusses as well. But in language, one 'yes' multiplied by another 'yes' made a negative.

So if Lucius would have known this simple rule, he might have been able to predict what Hermione was preparing now for him.

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Oh, yes, there's paradoxes in this chapter, I know, I KNOW! Hermioen's too apathic, I know that as well. 


	13. Hypnotic Hypodermia

You are all going to get a surprise here! And not a too nice one either! I can already see from here the smoke of angry Hermione fans's flames. Heehehhe…

So many people reviewed! So many thanks to give out! I LOVE YOU ALL! Keep on the good work! I'm sorry I haven't updated. School's hectic and stuff. I'll try to update more tho. I'm sorry. So Sorry.

**Seghen**: Yes, she should indeed escape. I agree very deeply with you. Keep on tuned to read and see what happens.

**Artemis: _Ye _**Heavens all mighty! Even divinities read my story! I have to update!I might get cursed!

**Ami Mizuno1:** Oh, update! Finally!

**Magical Flame:** You love it? Thank you! That's so very nice!

**Random Person**: Ok, so are you one of the 'Kompassi' chicks? Or the cool Power punk Girl?

**Learwynn**: I … cannot… resist…. Your… hypntoical…. Orders…. Tooo… charismatic… font…

**A Rater**: We live in a sick world; kids have to get used to it.

**Peachness**: I know what you mean. Some things make you addicted to them; like litchis. Ugly looking fruits, taste like heaven. Come to think about it, they do look quite cute.

**JerseySaint19**: Yeah, Lucius and tampons don't really go together, huh?

**Bianca**: Thank you. Thank you so much. I dedicate this chapter for you. I feel that is only when people say their opinion about a chapter that I can be satisfied with it. Besides, double dedication, since you were the first reviewer.

**Otherdruid's wifey**: I thank thee. Your review really flattered me; it's very pleasant to see how people hold me in high-esteem.

**Grey Mercury** (Yes, teasing you): I love causerie! It's just so much fun to write a whole deal of poop. Thanks again for your work.

**CareBearErin**: Hum… Fear the worst… well… I don't know, but Hermione kinda went all in a psychosis. It'll make more sense

**WhoGirl: **Finally an update. So you think it's deeper now. That's flattering. Usually people tell me I'm deep as a puddle.

**Victory 175**: Oh, that's special, isn't it? You just so expect to hate something you're surprised it's good. Well thank you for all your compliments and I'm happy that you like my story. Or is at least obsessed with it.

**Hotskittles: **Hum… have you ever tried spitting on the end of the tampon before putting it in? Just shove it gently and don't put it straight in. (Gosh, what am I typing? Advice for tampons?). Thank you for your comment; It made me smile.

**Enchantedlight**: Update! Joy!

**The Sexy Flower**: What! You cannot sink into memories? It's like daydreaming, only stronger. I do it heaps. In maths. When not thinking about porn.

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**My Dirty Little Secret.**

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November was passed in an odd silence, where Hermione kept on zoning out, scaring Lucius. He tried to see what happened if he left her alone. As a test, he had taken her and placed her in the room they took dinner and hid himself from her and spied on Hermione.

She didn't do anything more than when he was there, just sitting and staring into nothing, smiling and sometimes humming. Lucius was truly scared that _his_ Hermione was going crazy. After a while, he started to leave her alone in her room, going to the library and check big tomes over human psychology, trying to understand what was going on in her head.

Meanwhile, Hermione was victorious. Her plan had worked. He left her alone. Hermione had figured out that if she showed marks of some odd mental disease he would leave her alone. Maybe even let her go!

But for now, what she needed was to face and grasp the reality of the situation. Her legs were maimed, so she had to find a replacement for them. The best thing of course would be a wheelchair, but where to get one? (Lucius had forgotten the whole thing as he had seen Hermione's abysmal state of mind.)

She also needed a wand. There was the true problem: Lucius didn't carry one around him. She knew he hid at least one wand in his walking cane, but Hermione hadn't seen as much as a shadow of it. Therefore, she needed to move around the house.

There was another point: she needed in fact to move. She hated to be so dependent of Lucius.

But a new plan slowly formed in her head. She just hoped it wasn't an all too stupid one. She couldn't even think of the consequences if everything backfired. Hermione shook her head and took a lock between her hands, and for the first time in a very long time, six years, a bit less, she enjoyed her hair. They just might be her ticket to her liberty. She was going to become _Hermione_ again.

But she didn't know what was going on in other parts of the Manor at the same time. Lucius had had the bad idea of checking Hermione's past. A thing he could have never thought the consequences of. There were just some things that had to be left unsaid. But Lucius didn't know any of this.

Both were way more similar than they could have ever thought. Dark secrets bind people. There was a thread, a rope that bound them together tightly. This element would assure them mutual understanding and would imprison Hermione more than ever. Because what she had done was so pure, so wild, so incredible that Lucius would never let her go again.

But Lucius didn't know exactly what she had done yet. But she had done something bad, that was for sure. She betrayed herself, or maybe she gave him a hint on purpose. She had given him a key to understand her past: All Saint's Day.

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" - Lucius, I'd love to go out today."

It was December now, and snow outside was falling in white waves. Lucius was surprised to hear her say something so concrete. She wanted something. It was something nice as well, nothing abnormal. Lucius himself wanted out from the Manor, feeling queasy in its walls. He was beginning to feel like a prisoner in his own house.

Lucius quickly nodded, and after she had finished her breakfast, Lucius carried her to her bedroom and started to take out warm clothes for her to wear. He prepared for her typical old fashioned wizarding childrens clothes, with knitted underwear and two layers of robes and woollen tights. He helped her to put them all on, securely attaching a pair of white boots to her feet. He passed a little white cap on her head as well and assured two times that she had gloves on.

Hermione felt like a doll, being dressed up so delicately. He talked to her about the wind and the grounds they were going to go on, and asked her where she wanted to go. She answered that she wanted to see something beautiful, that she wanted to see the sky and the snow and feel the wind bite into her cheeks until they would be red.

Lucius nodded, and after he prepared himself as well, he took Hermione carefully and deposited her on the wheelchair he had placed near the door, in the corridor that would bring them to the winter garden.

Hermione clapped her hands, excited. Maybe she didn't have to carry out with her plan after all. But then, she felt the uncomfortable scratching of the wool on her legs. It was too late now; she had to do what she had to do.

He pushed carefully the wheelchair, listening to Hermione's breathing and to the wind that blew outside. Arriving to the metal door, he blocked the wheelchair before walking to the door and opening it. It was made out of copper, and it had turned green with the time. The door was very cold and Lucius remembered the stupid dares he used to put on his school friends. He often tricked people into licking the door, thus freezing their tongues on the cool metal surface.

He opened the door carefully, but the wind was very strong and it swept open the heavy door, almost throwing Lucius against the wall with the driving force.

An icy wind swept through the corridor, making Hermione's eyes cry and lips tremble. Lucius took the handles of the chair and pushed it forwards to the wind. Hermione's hair curled around his leather covered hands and even flew into his sleeves, tickling his wrists. _Pretty girl._ The thought had a parrot's brassy voice in his head.

They were on an open veranda, bare trees rattling in the wind, snow whisking in waves on the stone floor. The garden was dead, yet still very particular because of its sculptures. Lucius pushed them through the veranda and on in the garden.

It was very big, and very white. It looked like someone had decided to make dunes out of sugar and it gleamed in the dull winter light. Hermione was reminded of Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tale 'The Ice Queen'. She might as well think of herself as a queen, being pushed around by a man who was all of her servant, dependant on her every wish and whim.

Lucius kept pushing her forwards and forwards, up and down the dunes he never recalled to have seen so white. Pushing Hermione was a tedious job, always worrying if she didn't get shaken too badly.

He finally managed to push her where he wanted her. They were just near the pond, where you could see the sky and the lake and the trees of the forest. It was usually a very peaceful place, but today it was very windy and calamitous. But Hermione smiled merrily, eyes shining and hands clapping like a little child's as she laughed.

"- It's beautiful here!"

There was a glass bench somewhere under the snow, and Lucius took away some of the snow before putting a warming cushion carefully on the bench before placing Hermione on it. She groaned happily and wiggled before resting her back against the back of the bench and sighed happily.

She missed the cold crisp air of nature. She hummed to herself an old German poem on an opera melody and she felt content and glad, completely sure about how to carry out her plan. She just needed Lucius to go away.

It seemed that some divinity had heard her pleas and sent an extra strong wind burst towards them. The wheelchair, which wasn't blocked, started to wheel away, going backwards in a very quick pace.

Lucius started running after it, and Hermione laughed then. She shook her head, and let the white cap fall from her head. She took off her cloak, and opened the first of her two robes. She opened her arms widely, and the wind took it from her. Finally, she took the rest of her gloves and tights off, leaving her in one robe only, feet bare and body shuddering from cold. As Lucius was far away and obviously completely immersed in his chase, Hermione slowly shifted away from the bench, and laid down as well as she could on the soft, cold, white ground.

She closed her eyes and whispered very, very silently to herself a name. She let the soft snowflakes brush her face. It reminded her of him again, of how he let his lips glide over her face, soft and discreet as a butterfly. Hermione saw the snow building a face around hers, she saw the hazy lines of eyebrows. She felt his nose poking hers, brushing it lightly. Nature was reconstructing his face on hers.

It was very cold, and Hermione couldn't stop herself from shaking. She looked like a dying fish or someone under electro-shocks, body racking from the cold. Her teeth clenched from the cold and she tried to force herself to hold still. But her body refused to cooperate with her mind.

Finally, Hermione shook briskly her head and closed her eyes. She tried to stop concentrating on things. She felt the snow again on her face, and suddenly she calmed down, letting her heart react on instinct.

She finally relaxed and the wind blew up her remaining robe, closing down snow and fabric on Hermione's face.

Lucius rushed back, after almost an hour of searching for the dreaded wheeled throne, dragging the annoying thing with one hand but stopped walking as he saw Hermione lying on the ground. He strolled towards her slowly, afraid, watching her hair around her head. It reminded him of the crown of blood that had appeared when he had pushed his mother down the stairs so many years ago. Hermione's hair was spluttered around her just like his mother's blood had been.

He didn't go and shake her up from the ground, but kicked away the fabric of the robe covering her face.

Her face was covered in cold snow, but he still saw her blink and her lips tremble. He saw her face turn pink, then red, then white. The snow made a veil for her and the iced earth around her was the wedding dress. She looked like a dead bride. Perhaps she really was dead…no, not her, not his beautiful, perfect Hermione. She couldn't be, she mustn't be!

Suddenly, Lucius was scared and he bent down, ripping her off from her snow world. She opened slowly her eyes and muttered again the name she had said before.

"-Max. Max. Max. Max. Max…. Max." The first repetitions were groans, a mantra of the holiest sort to save her from the cold. But the last…the last seemed like a prayer, a song…the cry of a lover's name.

Lucius's mind registered the name, but for now, he ran up to the dungeons with Hermione, shaking her once in a while to keep her from falling into the deepest, last sleep of her life. Her face was very white, a sure sign of hypothermia. How could he have left her alone?

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Post Author's Note: I LOVE YOU ALL! I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU! IM GOING TO THE PRODIGY GIG! 


	14. Cold Closeness

My computer's kind of really kaput. So this explains the slow updates. And now I have my student exams. OH MY GOD IM GOING TO FAIL THEM ALL !

I don't think this chapter would clear up things to people. Hehe..

Okay, answering time now.

**enchantedlight:** You reviewed, therefore I can update.

**TheWolfInTheShadows**: Odd? Tell me about it! I love my Lucius! He's so freakishly nice. Why Hermione trie to kill herself? Read between the lines, she didn't want to die, she wanted to provoke a reaction.

**Artemis**. Oh, Moon Power! That's good! very good!

**Sarmoti**: Oh, thank you for your reviews and comments. My story kind of lost of its funniness along the way. I'm sorry about that.

**Sad:** There's nothing wrong with my rating. It isn't offensive nor contains strong violence or sex. And you gave me a strike of inspiration.

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****Random person you don't know:** Ok, so you're not a Kompassi chick... That's too bad because they're the elite of prettiness in the metro stations. Ok, so are you the baby swastika on the wall? Whose been nailed there although you cannot be more than 4 years old?

**whogirl:** Oh lá lá! You like how this is shaping up? Thank you! i hope you like the evolution of things.

**hotskittles:** Oh, I´m transmitting joy! You have no idea about how glad it makes me. Don't force a tampon inside of you if it hurts. Just use pads. Better comfy than in pain.

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****JerseySaint19**: Well, I do thank thee. How you like this one?

**Alandrea-the-magical-kitty**: Kitty, kitty, kitty, you're so pretty pretty pretty, Kitty kitty kitty I love you... I'm very proud with my answer to Caley. I guess I'm going to have a special causerie chappie at some point. Oho... And you'll find out who's this Max soon. And as for the gig, trust me, I'll have fun.

**prin69**: I nod frantically with you. New chapter! You find out more! Joy!

**Midnight Lilly**: All in good time, all in good time...

**CareBearErin**: Merci! Merci de tout mon coeur! Yes, she was faking it... and Max has a double secret, I cannot tell you. I can just give you a hint: a name can have several owners.

**supafly09**: So, finish the story yet? How was church?

**Pipeline : **Thank you for your input…It's really nice of you to review. Got any ideas to improve this fic?

Sorry – this scene kind of keeps on going… No worries, dark subplot delivered here. Poorly and messily written; hope you get the idea anyways.

Wait – is there an idea in this chapter? Oh yeah- subplot.

You can obviously see I wrote this chapter in two separate parts that I put into one chapter.

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**My Dirty Little Secret.**

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That which is striking and beautiful is not always good, but that which is good is always beautiful. Lucius scoffed at the thought of this. Beauty had a certain light, aura even, but it wasn't always because it was good. No, evil things had as much as an aura as the good ones.

As soon as he was in the dungeon, he stripped her off from her thin robe, leaving her panties on. He grabbed a towel and stared frictioning her body fiercely, bringing back the blood circulation.

As he was pouncing her cold flesh with a towel, she, or rather the cold, woke up a distant feeling in him. Her flesh was cold as Maid Mary's had been, like Narcissa's. She was exactly like his past sexual partners. Her cold skin, her white face, her dark hair, all came to a perfect combination. Lucius felt as if a deep, perverse, long hidden fantasy rose up again. For the first time he felt real lust towards her. It was as is he wanted her body to pounce on her in order to make her warm.

He had had carnal, even pornographic clips of Hermione running in his mind. But it was different. We all have sick, perverse, immoral sexual fantasies, wrong disturbing pictures our mind creates and often censor. But they are exactly that: fantasies. Things that would quite surely never happen, because it was too different, too wrong.

But Hermione, cold as she was, connected now with Lucius's earlier sexual habits. His fantasies came to a reality he could seize if he wanted too. This horrible and enticing revelation was so immense, he had stopped rubbing her skin. For him to have sex with her would be almost… almost normal.

"- Why haven't I ever seen you naked, Lucius?"

Lucius was shocked; no, no he was more surprised. The thought had never really occurred to him. Your body is something very subjective; after a while, you get so used to it, you cannot say whether it's beautiful or not. Lucius could pass days without watching himself in a mirror.

It was odd how Hermione seemed to read his mind. In order to have sex, you are supposed to be naked. Hermione had felt his desires and promptly wanted to humiliate him, point out to him how ridiculous his body was. Her simple, understandable request was going to be a sacrifice to Lucius and Hermione knew it well.

Suddenly he felt how she reigned over his life, controlling his days through her dependence. He gave her all his time and attention, his treasures and now, he was about to give her his body as well. The only thing that still could have been his only. As soon as her eyes would see him naked, his body would be hers.

"- Would you … like that?"

Hermione nodded.

Lucius didn't know whether take his cloths of slowly or quickly, so he just took of his cloths as he usually did, trying to look everywhere but at Hermione. He took off his shoes, his sock and his long johnsons before stopping, hesitating.

_So this was how Hermione felt_; humiliated at the thought of his reaction towards her body. Suddenly, Lucius felt very shy and wondered if Hermione found him attractive. As he finally watched her, she was watching him with those eyes again. The same eyes of the cruel loved fuelled child that was inside her.

He finally dropped of his robe, leaving him naked and vulnerable.

Hermione's eyes were dark now, dark and beautiful. Her hair seemed like her, bending forwards to have a better look. She sat up slowly, tucking her calves neatly under her derriere.

Lucius's body was very strange. It was long, thin, with childish features extended all over it, creating an odd notion of infinity. The chest was perfectly lean, with no visible muscles nor fat. His teats pointed out like two small buds on his chest and a very thin, almost unnoticeable fluff was strewn across the abdominals. The skin wasn't shiny; it was soft and glowing with warmth. His penis rested gently between his legs, in a nest of white fur, seemingly innocent. His legs weren't really hairy; there where there was hair, it was so pale and fine you almost didn't notice it.

She extended her arms and Lucius stepped nearer. Her hands slowly passed on his boyish body.

"- Max."

Hermione couldn't believe what she saw. It was as if her childhood dream, her goal was in front of her. There was a hybrid of a boy-man in front of her. It looked like Lucius's body had passed directly from childhood to adulthood, never passing by puberty. His shoulders weren't broad, his legs weren't thick, his body wasn't covered in hair. No, he was perfectly lean and white, having white hair and almost transparent eyes. He wasn't human. Lucius had taken the place of a divinity in Hermione's mind.

Lucius shuddered as he heard the name. This Max couldn't have had a better name: he was taking a MAXimal of space between them.

He had done some very serious research about Hermione, and found some information that could be said to be more than a bit alarming. Lucius had skipped the years of Hermione's presence in the wizarding world; he knew everything about her already. Instead, he started to root in her past.

This Max she talked about was surely a friend of hers that had died in more than just mysterious occurrences. The boy had been ten year old when found dead by his mother in their backyard, obviously strangled by _something_.

Lucius had seen pictures of the boy and had been very shocked about the boy's body and complexion: he looked perfect. But his body was odd, too tall for being a child, yet not in puberty yet. The boy's eyes were big, so big and a mess of brown and green, not particulary uncommon, but very becoming on him. His hair was blond and soft, shining on each picture of him.

The boy had been in her school and her neighbour. There was more than one picture with both children on them, smiling and playing tag with each other. Hermione's beauty is strange and astounding on the pictures: she looks like an overgrow cherub. Both children did, in fact.

Lucius hadn't put much time in searching extensive information about this Max, but he still knew he had been murdered aged 10. It had been a little shocking thing to read in a life of a girl who seemed normal enough. But then, Lucius had seen Hermione in his mind's eye and smiled. No- she wasn't normal. She had never been normal.

It's a well known fact that girls, especially young ones, aren't normal. They aren't one person; they are fractioned in many pieces. The proof for this was their body: they couldn't control it.

Menstruation was a perfect example of the girl's abnormality. It was a phenomenon that occurred once a month; girls nor women could affect this thing. They could maybe stop the flow a couple of days mentally, but they were bound to menstruate sooner or later. The only time they could control their body was when they were pregnant.

Therefore, Lucius came to a conclusion: women don't have genitalia between their legs: they have some kind of animal down there, a monster with a big mouth that makes itself known to the world through spitting out blood.

That thing between their legs hid itself but was very powerful if needed. The thing in question could bleed once a month and it was normal – something wasn't quite right here. The only thing that could calm down the whole monster was a pregnancy.

Suddenly, whilst Hermione still dissecting his body with her eyes, he understood what a _pregnancy_ was. It wasn't a life being formed; it was a way to tame that _thing_; for women to be normal for some time.

Suddenly Lucius felt very sick in his stomach. He just had the brief image of a pregnant Hermione in his mind. A pregnant girl giving birth to another thing like her. A baby girl that would form the same monster between her legs and give then birth to another girl, who will give another child, and that child would mate and give another one. The thoughts circled in his mind were so sick Lucius trembled and tried to stop his mind from working.

Of course Lucius had had pornographic thoughts about Hermione; any man encountering somewhat attractive women had them. Boys didn't need more than a paper picture of a naked woman to be able to have an erection. During the Middle-Age, the painted pictures of Jesus on Virgin Mary's naked teat were considered pornographic; no reason to think otherwise when you saw statues or painting of other naked people.

Lucius would have told straight out that he masturbated thinking of naked women in statues if someone would have asked him. It was less dirty than admire paper people; statues were real, in 3D, with long curves and perfect faces.

Hermione was a statue, only a living one. Therefore, Lucius had pleasured himself whilst thinking of her, but the mere thought of, well, do _it_ with her was ridiculous. It was as if he had tried to penetrate a statue or something like that. Totally ludicrous.

But now, with the realization of what Hermione really had between his legs, his thoughts became more real than ever. But instead of being arousing, they were terrible. Having sex with Hermione would be a sacrilege. It would be improper and _dirty_.

Suddenly Hermione's heritage came to his mind again: _Mudblood_. For a pure-blood like him to mate with her kind could be perceived as zoophilia in the Wizarding Society. It was a paradox really: Lucius was the one who felt dirty, not Hermione.

The girl was on the bed, sitting there in peace with herself, observing him with her eyes, eyes gleaming. She knew all the secrets of her gender; little girls were women in disguise.

The transition from girl to woman had to be done through puberty. You couldn't call it an evolution. Didn't you call teenage girls 'young girl' and infants 'girl'? It was clear that small girls, children, were women and women were children. Puberty was the real burden for young girls. They were in between.

Girls were like lobsters: as children, they had a shield, as women they had a shield, but in between, during puberty, they didn't have one. The shield of childhood was too small and of adulthood was too big; they had to survive without protection. The same thing occurred to lobsters: they had shields and as they were 'teenagers' (between child-adulthood) they didn't have a shield. They were ugly, grey things that didn't have a proper form to speak of.

Just some rare girls escaped from this Hermione were obviously one of the lucky ones; her adult shield had been created as a child. It had taken her five years to activate her shield, but it was much more efficient than the shields of those surrounding her.

Lucius's mind was buzzling so much his head was heavy and he shakily sat down next to Hermione. The girl watched him with head on her right shoulder, hair dripping cold water on her breasts and stomach.

It was so quiet they heard the wind blowing outside and the cold snowflakes hitting on glass. Lucius felt suddenly very tired and shook his head. Hermione tentatively touched his shoulder with her hand, maybe trying to give him comfort or maybe touching him.

Lucius noticed that this was the first time she touched him. He had always carried her around and given her everything without her needing even to ask for it. The only time they touched was when he carried her around and when he massaged her feet. The rest of the time, they didn't have any physical contact.

The touch was welcomed. Lucius lowered her to the bed, carefully laying down next to her, pressing his head against her cold chest. He heard her heartbeat and slightly pulled her closer to him.

Lucius didn't want to understand anything anymore. For now, he wanted to hold Hermione against her and feel the cold flesh against his. She was less scary this way. She was like Maid Mary and like Narcissa, cold and passive and dead. It was odd how the thought of a cadaver could make Lucius calm and relax.

Maybe he should have let Hermione die. It wouldn't have been cruel; she searched for it herself.


	15. Mystery Murder

Now- now. I had a difficult time writing this chapter, mainly because it explained the background of Lucius research too much. So I decided to pull out the whole thing in a bunch. Here's the subplot in all its beauty. It's a total Out of character thing for me to do! Just see Angelic Layer.

You people will never guess what I went through for you! My keyboards space button is broken. And Iam writing this to you all! By using the stupid autocorrector! It fixes most of the stuff, but it takes bloody hours!

I'll thank all of you later for your precious support. If you have questions and/or want answers, mail me!

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**My Dirty Little Secret.**

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Beauty lies within the eye. This was a maxim that had always made Lucius perplex. Because the 'lies' could be two things: lay or lie. Did beauty rest in your eye? Or did it deform your conception of things?

Until Hermione was brought to his life, Lucius understood the proverb in the way that beauty rested in your eye. Now, he understood it the other way: beauty deformed things. Hermione deformed them. Made him grotesque to himself, made things creepy and double. Lucius saw the things two times: through his eyes and those of Hermione. Or he tried to.

"- I know about Max, Hermione"

Lucius was sitting on the bed. One week had passed since she had fallen into the snow. She had been ill for almost the whole week, but now she was better, and if possible, more beautiful than before.

Hermione had just bathed. She smelled like grapefruit and knowledge. Strange combination, but a good one. Knowledge didn't smell of books, ink and dust. No, knowledge, true knowledge, the one that hurts, smelled of metal and cotton with the stagnant scent of rotting fruits. The smell that makes your nosehair shrivel in disgust, yet make your mind scream in delight.

Her skin was always glowing due to the fever and her eyes were shining too much; her body wasn't tense, but soft instead. Hermione had for the most slept during her sickness, which had left Lucius spare time to research about Max.

The details about the boy's murder were very thin. The only thing they knew was that he had been strangled in a park early in the morning. Nothing more. No suspects had been found; in other words, it had been a perfect crime.

Knowing Hermione's perfectionism, she was the only one that could have done it. No concrete evidence pointed out the crime towards Hermione, which made it clearer to Lucius that she had committed the crime. She had given him plenty of hints: his name and the circumstances she had said it. She had been dying herself and had muttered his name and survived.

And also something else assured Lucius that she had done it. It was a hazy instinct that told him she had done it.

Hermione stopped drying her hair. She watched Lucius through the mirror before shaking her head in mock innocence. Her eyes betrayed anger and surprise. Hermione knew what he was talking about but wanted to know _exactly _what he knew.

"- What are you talking about?"

"- Your muggle friend Max, the boy who died, remember?'

She turned away from the mirror and faced him, her hair towel dry, the towel itself on the floor. Hermione wasn't wearing anything since Lucius wanted her as vulnerable as possible for this confrontation. But obviously Hermione didn't need protection; she had her hair after all.

The thing that surprised Lucius was that she didn't fight against him; he was about to touch something very sore to her heart and she took it like a comment about the weather. What did she really confess? Maybe she was winning time. He hadn't told her his suspicions yet.

" - You killed him. I… could tell your parents. Or the Muggle authorities. Or the Order; they'll never take you back if they knew. No one likes murderers."

Hermione's reaction couldn't have been stronger. Her head snapped back and her eyes widened. She turned her body, lifting her own weight and spinning around. She sat down so she faced him as closely as she could and she placed her both hands between her legs so her arms covered her breasts.

Her eyes planted themselves into his and she talked slowly, articulating with her jaw tight.

"- It's odd how one second I'm Hermione and then suddenly, I am a murderer. Is it as if I lost a part of humanity. I'm a _murderer_, not _Hermione_. What gives _you_ that right?"

Lucius couldn't help but to sweat slightly and he shivered as he saw her blink. She looked very strong and at that moment he knew what was going on: there was a real fight about to begin.

Now was the time for him to show her who ruled here; too long had she manipulated him. Lucius bent closer to her and pulled her hair with his left hand. The yank made her grimace in pain and her head fell on the side.

She brushed away a curl from her bare chest and Lucius seized the opportunity to take a grip on her. He flung her lightly on the bed, just as if she was a burning piece of toast. She fell softly on the bed, slightly bouncing. She looked surprised, but sat up as quickly she managed and took a pillow she covered her chest with.

"- You murdered him."

Her eyes seemed to burn now; she hadn't been this angry since she had been kidnapped. This made Lucius's blood boil and he moved closer to her, tempted to strip off the pillow from her. She finally presented him with a challenge.

Their eyes met again and they just knew _anything_ could happen.

"- You will tell no one, because then, everyone will know I'll be here."

"- What makes you believe I want to keep you now?"

Hermione showed now open surprise: why wouldn't he want to keep her? If he didn't like her beauty anymore, he still could use her as a weapon against the Order. Why get rid of her? (Here of course, Hermione thought Lucius suggested to kill her. She couldn't imagine Lucius would just let her go, which he actually might have done, if stupid enough.)

She leaned closer to him, trying to get the upper hand in their staring contest. Lucius knew that if he lost this battle, Hermione would despise him. So he did what any other man would have done: used a diversion.

"- You …. Murderer"

That just did the trick: Hermione used all the power she had and pushed Lucius so hard off the bed that he fell off, hitting the floor ungently. A crack was heard and Lucius felt the same ache Hermione found so calming.

Her eyes were black again and burning, her head held up high in a superior demeanour. Her smile was a soft curve, forming a perfect Cupid's bow. Her arms were still outstretched, a pose parodying a Jesus icon.

Lucius felt the urge of laughing, how ridiculous they were: she, truly believing she could beat and control him with her lovely looks and angry face. He laughed a low rumbling sound, tossing his head back and watching Hermione on the bed, pulling up his robes in a childish perverse way.

She was so childish, it even affected him.

"- That's exactly what I am: a murderer. You have always called me that. Hermione was a beautiful murderer, just like me. It's not a coincidence my parents named me by this name. It defines me: _Nomen est Omen_."

Lucius sat up and opened his eyes. Really opened them this time. What he saw astounded him: Hermione was still sitting on the bed, but she seemed somehow… different.

Her hair was sloppy, half dry and bushy, hanging limply and sadly around her head. Her skin was too pale, a birthmark very apparent underneath her left breast and tiny moles spread all over her. Her breasts looked awkward, somehow clumsy on her otherwise slim and lanky chest, her legs thin like sticks, dangling on the floor. She was… _ugly_.

As soon as he was about to stand up and shoo her away, her eyes narrowed, her back straightened, her breasts moulded themselves to her chest. SHE CHANGED; she was beautiful again. Lucius realized suddenly why he was so attracted to her: she was like him. She lied to everyone, just like he had done so many years ago.

"- Why do you confess it to me? Why not keeping it a secret? Why not denying it like you did so many years ago? You're smart enough to cover it up."

"- You didn't guess the truth, you _knew_ it. You felt the crime in me. There would have been no point in lying to you. You know it because you committed the same crime as well."

"- But why now? Why… me?"

It was strange how shocked he was. And how _right she was_. Even if she would have denied it, even if he would have convinced himself she wouldn't have done it, he still would have always felt it. But still, it was shocking to hear it said aloud.

She confessed without saying anything.

Hermione crawled out from the bed and let herself fall on Lucius. She landed softly but Lucius smacked his head on the wooden floor, grasping for air. She had knocked out the breath from his lungs.

"- I told you because you called out the murderer in me. You called it! You lured it out by mentioning Max. I could have denied all accusation if I had been with a human. But you're the only person who I see, and you too, are a murderer. You are even more stripped of humanity than me."

She bent down, letting her hair fall down like a curtain, assuring thus that Lucius would watch her, and her only. At that moment, he was hers and nothing could change it. He might have got rid of her before this and stay scarred. But not anymore. She had hit him deep down; they were in a symbiosis state now. But Lucius couldn't muster who was dependent on who.

He tried to keep some dignity and turned his head. He was confronted with her dark hair. It was hard to decided what her hair bought him: comfort or confrontation.

She had rubbed her hair in magnolia oil! The scent hit his nose much harder then he could have ever suspected.

Her face was now so close he tasted her breath and almost cried due to the strong and stubborn perfume that was around him.

"- You, Lucius, are worse than me. You killed with a wand; you never touched or loved your victims. I, on the other hand, killed him with myself."

"- But…. Why?"

Hermione didn't answer. She slowly lowered her head and touched his lips with hers. The caress was slow and surprising. Lucius saw how she bent her head slowly to the side and kissed him once more, sweeping his mouth gently, sending her monoxide carbon in him. Lucius suddenly wished time could stop and let her breath in him, poison him slowly with her breath.

"- Why not?"


	16. Grave Gift

**U****PDATE! Amazing, amazing, I know.**

**Prin69**: Oh yes, my " Why Not". Very proud of that one.

**Of Crows and Horses**: I liked your review even MORE!

**Gingitsune Wings**: Start stocking up your compassion for Lucius. He will need it.

**HermioneGranger91**: Haha, you wait and see. There's always a way out. Remember, remember they both are murderers.

**AkGirl**: I didn't update fast, but I least I update! I'll bring out the next chapter on Wednesday, promise.

**Alandrea-the-magical-kitty**: Awww, sorry for the bad updating. But the rest is written, so it'll come, it will, no worries about that.

**Sarmoti:** update… Sorry for the delay.

**Hotskittles**: I agree.

**CareBearErin**: here we go new chapter and new odd things to come. Twists and turna and odd groups and Hermione-cults ahead (yo-ho and a bottle of rhum!).**  
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**Mrs. Skywalker** : Thank you. It is very different and all critic isn't nice, but I manage just well. Keep on reading.

. Perv!

**ArcticAngelzTx**: OOOOh! Excellent! You noticed! Very, very good! I'm proud to have such a smart reader!

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**My Dirty Little Secret.**

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Beauty is truth, truth beauty - that is all, Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. Lucius wanted to know more of his beautiful Hermione than he ever wanted. He could just blame himself for that.

No. He couldn't blame himself. He should have praised himself instead. He touched her in places no one ever touched Hermione before. This use of words had a double edge of course; as repulsed Lucius was by sex, as intrigued he was about Hermione's mind. It was her gender up there, not her brain.

Women, girls in disguise, often said that men thought with their penises. Lucius could retort now that they had pleasure with their brains. You just to touch a man to get him aroused; women had to be touched and talked to.

After their confrontation, Lucius slept that night in the same bed as Hermione, in fear that if he didn't do it, she might seize the opportunity to kill him. It never occurred to him that she didn't know she he slept and that she couldn't move.

Well, he knew it, but Hermione seemed so tired of not being able to spend her energy that it started to leak. Her mind wasn't used to be doing just one thing. Hermione was a girl of action; she needed books, sights, perfumes, everything she could find to satisfy her. Not just sit in a bed and read news.

But it was impossible for him to sleep. Her hair always smelled of magnolias.

A magnolia is a flower that symbolises Perseverance. The symbolism came surely because of its strong scent; the flower flowers in bushes. The flowers are usually white, but can be slightly pinkish too. The aristocrats often showered themselves in magnolia perfume because of its smell; magnolia perfume is easy to make, but often smells sour and slightly rotten if badly made. During middle-age, the magnolia was a sign of wealth because only rich people could afford them. Even in our days, magnolias are expensive.

Magnolias were the scent of feminine beauty. Stubborn and silent, the scent creeps in and even if you would live somewhere where magnolias grew, you still couldn't get used to their smell. If you slept in a room where fresh cut magnolias are, you can't sleep well and your head felt heavy and often you wondered if you hadn't drunk too much or smoked something strange. They were like narcissuses; that flower drove you crazy.

Hermione rubbed herself into magnolia for one reason: she was dead. There was this similarity between flowers and cadavers: they stank. Flowers and corpses reek. A flower is a cadaver; it will die no matter what you do. It'll slowly wither, then crackle up, before drying away.

The scent of magnolias dubbed with Hermione's presence and her heavy secret made it impossible for Lucius to sleep. He could just lie next to her on the bed that forced them to be very close to each other. Hermione was sleeping on her side, a hand underneath her left breast and head resting on her other arm. Her legs were crossed and Lucius's only distraction was to count the beauty spots that were strew over her body.

He noticed how she had different star configurations all over her body and wanted to touch them. Stars had never made Lucius feel alone and lost like it so often did on other people. Surely stars glinting in the skies were striking, but they never had a huge impact on Lucius. His mother had explained to him once how lost and small and insignificant she felt as she saw them. She tried to describe him how she sometimes felt scared that if she watched the stars too long, they would drag her to space and she would drown under their lights. She always felt so sad because she couldn't approach them.

It was very odd how Lucius felt when he touched her back, tracing the Phoenix constellation. He felt like his mother had described, even more lost maybe and sadder because he could touch the stars but not reach up to them.

Now when they were so close, Lucius felt the odd urge of touching her intimately. It was the first time he used this word with a connexion to sex. The fact that Hermione (she wasn't really a girl anymore) would feel sexual pleasure still amazed him. That realization had shocked him even more than her menstruation and showed him how little he knew about women. They had been either wives, cold statues, or mothers, cold things, or just beautiful and distant. Never could he imagine they lived like him.

Therefore, Lucius hand slowly, very slowly crept down her body. He felt this time the soft hair that covered her body and the very light bumps of the moles on her body. There was a scar where her appendix had been operated away. There was something very sensual about her breath, about the way her stomach moved under his hand. It reminded Lucius that Hermione was alive. It was as if her body was made for love.

Hermione's eyes moved under her eyelids and she smiled, purred even a bit before wriggling closer a bit. Lucius was so surprised and shocked that he withdrew his hand from her. Her skin was so warm Lucius wondered if Hermione wasn't a warm element (a warm element was something akin a wizarding radiator; a box where hot, red coal was kept and put in rooms so it would chase away moisture and cold).

Maybe Hermione wasn't human… well, she wasn't humane. She had murdered at age nine. She had been right about the fact of murdering: you loose your title of being humane when you that. But the odd thing about Hermione, was that she wasn't humane; she was human. She had done what she thought was for the best.

Lucius felt odd; he needed to control Hermione, yet he had no idea how.

The solution was so simple it took him a week to come up with it.

Hermione was always on the edge, always alert; therefore, her beauty couldn't be dulled. She knew its affect and kept it up so that Lucius could enjoy it. It was clear though that if Lucius and Hermione would live together a 'normal' way, Hermione would become very soon dull. Lucius kept Hermione on hot coals and therefore she was more aware of things as her beauty. If this would be her everyday life, she wouldn't react the same way. No; no that was not what Lucius meant. Hermione was such a novelty; everything she did was passionate and personal. If she had lived with him her whole life, she'd be still beautiful, yet predictable. She'd be plain and boring in that way.

Now, knowing how alert Hermione called up Lucius's Slytheriness. The simplest way of calming Hermione down? Magic and potions of course! It was so simple it had taken him ages to figure it out.

Magic was never, ever used in the dungeon where Lucius stocked his treasures. The rooms were made by magic; a simple Finite Incarnate' could make the inner tower disappear with all its contains. Therefore, magic was never brought into the tower. Potions were accepted, but Lucius didn't take risks. He charmed his paintings outside the Tower before bringing them in.

Lucius injected a Passive Potion with a syringe in an apple. He cut the apple in pieces, leaving its red skin on and put the apple slices on a plate. He brought the apple slices to Hermione just after breakfast.

Hermione was reading her newspapers and was surprised as she saw the plate next to her. Lucius had placed it next to her, very timidly, watching hard the fruit. He had set it close to her and quickly taken off his hand and walked back three steps and sat down on the floor.

Hermione felt Lucius's eyes and suddenly felt intimated. Hermione and Lucius had gone through a whole myriad of emotions together, but neither of them had felt this intimidated. It was the intimation there was between two random people who knew each others names and had to talk, yet had nothing to say.

Hermione watched the apple slices on the plate. They looked plain, just the same as any other fruit cut up in pieces. She suddenly felt very touched by this gesture. It was personal. He had given her food so she could survive, but now he actually gave her a little present.

She didn't want to eat up the fruit. She wanted to frame it in and keep it under her pillow. It was strange how attached she could become to something so quickly. Suddenly she understood why. It wasn't the gesture or the fruit, no, it was the way how Lucius had given this to her that touched her so deeply. It was a childish gesture, a gesture a friend would do.

So albeit she felt touched, Hermione brought a piece of fruit near her mouth and bite into it. The apple didn't taste especially good; it was a bit watery and the taste of it was sour and bitter. But she ate up the thin slices anyways.

Suddenly, very slowly, she felt how Lucius stared at her. He watched her hungrily. No. He watched her the way Doctor Mengele surely watched his 'patients': in a childish glee knowing something bad was about to happen. Hermione tried to check out if her body was starting some odd chemical reaction.

But no, everything was alright. Her body was the same, no effects could be said to have happened. She didn't feel any pain, or hear anything and apart the fact that her eyes were a bit tired, everything was juuuuuust fine.

Juuuuuuuuuust fine. That was it. Hermione felt suddenly disgusted by the apple; it didn't taste good. In fact, it tasted like nothing. And the bed sheets were too thick. And the newspapers weren't interesting. No. Nothing was interesting now.

Hermione understood now why Lucius had given her an apple: it was the fruit of condemnation according to the genesis. Lucius, good Slytherin snake that he was just had to give her an apple.

Now Hermione definitely noticed that she had been drugged and was angry, yet couldn't be bothered to start up a storm. Suddenly an arrow of energy stormed through her and before her brain could figure out was going on, her mouth sprouted out her anger.

"- _What are you doing_? What gives you the right?"

That was a rhetorical question of course. Lucius did what _he_ wanted. If he wanted to please her, that was his choice. Lucius was shocked and scared because he had seen how soft and lifeless Hermione had been becoming. This sudden burst of energy scared Lucius beyond answering.

He saw the struggle on the girl's face. Her eyes sifted from mud brown to golden and passing by silver; her mouth was open, slightly pointing out her tongue and she was looking apathic to say the least.

As her face definitely turned dull and angry, Lucius allowed himself to stand up and sit down next to her on her bed.

The girl's displeased eyes met his and she talked to him with a stricken, angry voice that lisped and bawled on the consonants. Lucius felt proud of his plan, yet cursed it. Stupid side effects of that potion!

"-My life isn't supposed to be like this!"

"- Please, Hermione, don't tell me you believe in _destiny_."

"- I want to do what I want! I want to read what I want! I want to live the life that I want! I want to go to school, graduate, have a work!"

"- Don't lie to me, Hermione. Is a scheduled life what you want? You have it! Your days are perfectly planned!"

"- But _I _didn't plan this! This goes against my ideas of a life!"

"- Are you a slave for working trends, Hermione?"

"- I want to be surrounded by people who understand me as an equal! Not as some kind of… of… inferior goddess!"

"- Hermione, you will never be treated the same way as others: your origin will always stop some people. You will live with their racist laws."

"- Not every pureblood is bad! Not everyone is! Not everyone is a murderer!"

"- But, YOU are! You are a murderer!"

"- At least, I did for love!"

"- Oh, yes, isn't_ love_ just _incredible_? The saddest part I think is that you are surely right; if I would deliver you to the authorities, your crimes would be milder punished because you did it for love! Your crime would be acceptable, although they are unpardonable."

"- You're acting as if you didn't kill anyone! Your crimes are worse! You killed for killing sake! You just pointed a stupid stick and muttered a spell and they died! You are a coward, I killed the one I loved the most on the world! I killed him myself, with my own hands!"

They were face to face now, breaths caressing each others faces.

Lucius saw the struggle on her face before her muscles relax and she buckled rather ugly backwards and let her body sunk on herself. He heard how the plate fell on the floor and the sudden, rather ungirlish snore.

Lucius relaxed and left himself slumber as he watched how Hermione slept, not moving once, breathing in deeply, making an hissing noise. There was something very alluring with the contrast of her almost fragile, glass like figure and the noises she made.

He sat down on her bed, taking her roughly under her arms and throwing her to the end of her bed and installed himself on her pillows. She was just there, not moving, snoring. He took her hand and shook it violently. Hermione didn't even move.

Lucius took his hand and pressed it against Hermione's eyes. The girl's hand was still moist and warm, like a mollusc, but she tried to grad his face lazily, just as if tried to chase away a fly.

Lucius watched her a last time before closing the curtains of her bed. They fell gently down, shielding Hermione from the world, leaving a silhouette to be seen through a thin layer of gold.

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Post Author's Note: Hey, this could actually end here! 


	17. Meanwhile & Musings vol 2

**This is my confession time: **I wrote this chapter for another story, yet decided to put it in this one.

Lots of OCs here! New happy people!

Ok, and what the barking hell! What is this new crappy thing that an author cannot thank their reviewers as before, in a chapter's begin or end? It's evil! See if I care, I'll thank those who deserve to be thanked ( that is, in fact, everyone).

So, Thank you **Nomes** for being so nice and make me feel so special because of what I write. I have the impression of becoming myself a bit loony, but I guess its just good.

Hehe, if you think **Erin** that I'll leave this here, you're wrong. Next chapter will make you wither in the agony of one hell of a painful cliffie. (hehhe)

Thank you, **Enchatned Light**.

**Of crows and Horsies**: I love my hair! It's turquoise and pretty. I know that was random, but you should be a pit poked for believing I'd leave the story here.

**Supafly09** and **Mrs Skywalker**, I'll explain it shortly You might not be the only one lost. Ok, Hermione has murdered a boy called Max when she was a kid, Lucius found out, got scared and drugged Hermione because he thought she might kill him. If you need more info, just ask again.

**WhoGirl**: Oh, trust me, the real ending will be freaky, but very good.

**HermioneGranger91**: Ok, I will not end it yet.

Ok, everyone, confusing chapter.

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**

**My Dirty Little Secret.**

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A thing of beauty is a joy forever. Beauty had many forms. For Hermione, beauty was chocolate. Not your average chocolate, no, Hermione's idea of perfection was a very particular kind of green white chocolate. This green white chocolate was a specialty of the town Hokkaido in Japan. It was melon flavoured white chocolate.

The question this was to form was simple of course: why was perfection a piece of melon chocolate to Hermione?

The answer was simple: Hermione Jane Granger had always, always, ALWAYS during her whole entire life starved. She had been hungry ever since she could remember.

She hadn't been starving in the 'food way'. She had eaten plenty, even a bit too much, being lovely pudgy her whole childhood. She loved anything sweet beyond living. Since anything sweet and sugary was prohibited by her parents, Hermione snatched her candy from the places her parents hid the goodies. Therefore when Hermione ate her sweets, she felt a thrill to rival an orgasm; for her, good chocolate melting in her mouth was like eating sunlight.

Her favourite movie, by far, had always, always been Charlie and the chocolate factory. Her first love had been Willy Wonka. Never mind the fact that he was a fictional character and thrice her age, it didn't budge her love for him. She saw Severus Snape the first time, she thought she had met the one her parents called the Candyman.

Hermione's parents are dentists. For them, every thing that had a grain of sugar is poison. Sugar is evil little germs they used to tell their daughter. Candies weren't good or healthy, they just gave that impression. Candy wasn't good, it was evil; candy was the drugs for kids.

Also the Candyman was _that_ man your parents warned you about. We all know the warning parents give their young children: "Never Accept Candy From A Stranger". It's the Eleventh command on God's Top-Ten What-To-Do-To-Be-A-Good-Person-List (Moses was a bit tired she presume so he forgot to put that between 'Thou shall Not kill' and 'Thou shall respect you Mother and Father').

For a very long time, Willy Wonka was Hermione's idea of God: some one who created delicious things and punished those who merited it. Her personal goal in life when Hermione was six was to marry Willy Wonka and rule over all the candies. Hypnotise people with chocolate to so they would obey her, and only her.

This was why Hermione Granger was a faithful fan of Severus Snape. He was her kind of own Willy Wonka. He created potions and pills and powders under his hands to make the world a better place.

A main reason why Hermione hated divination: How are you supposed to see the future if you don't understand the past?

The only predictions you can make is about yourself, and only with the condition you know who exactly you are. Hermione didn't pretend she knew herself completely, but she could trust herself. Very few people count on themselves. They pretend they do, but really, they don't.

Now, Hermione couldn't count on herself. Her body wasn't able to help her and her mind was being poisoned. Now, she had to start hoping again. Now, she had to have faith in Harry and Ron.

Deep, deep inside her, she started to beat. Her heart started to beat like the wings of a bird that wanted to fly away from the cage it was in. Now, for good, Hermione started to cry for help in her heart. There was no time to be proud anymore.

She needed faith of those who had used to know her so she couldn't be herself anymore.

Draco Malfoy walked. Or, better said, limped. Or to be even more accurate, was dragged (by the hair) towards the Shrieking Sack. It didn't hurt. Not really. Draco actually was expecting all this.

Ever since autumn, since the kidnapping of Hermione Granger, the school had been in turmoil. There had been an odd movement starting all over school. All the girls walked together tightly, holding hands, house members all mixed. First all the Gryffindors had been together; then some Raverclaws had joined along with half of Hufflepuff. And now, Slytherins were very often spotted in the cloud of people. The group walked together, in a certain order; the Seventh years with the first years, the Fifth with the Second, the Thirds with the Sixth and the Fourth years were trailing behind, holding hands with someone of another house.

The boys lead by Harry Potter and Ron Weasly, walked in front and behind them, protecting frames. The boys never talked to the girls; it's not that they didn't want to; they just weren't allowed. The girls had to talk to the boys, who did whatever they asked. It was very solemn to watch.

Just a handful of people hadn't joined this group. Not that it was easy. Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, Ellektra Elshaw and Rosa Blubaum were of course accepted straight away; they actually started it all. Ginny Weasly, Luna Lovegood, and oddly enough, Maritta Edgecombe were the next ones to join. It became bigger and bigger; Daphne Greengrass joined them publicly. The founders had watched her critically and without a word, she has cut her very long hair short. With a knife that bore Hermione's name.

It had been theirs to share during a Potion's project. Everyone had been surprised and shocked and screamed in horror, expect for the founders of the group. They had nodded appreciably and Daphne had sat down between Ellektra and Luna, owning claps on her back and immediate breakfast in front of her.

It was obvious to see those who were rejected from the group. They were sitting at the Slytherin table whilst the group of girls occupied the Gryffindor table. The boys had the Hufflepuff table as theirs and those who were friends with the group members had the Raverclaw table.

Of course, this group was odd and would have quite surely formed also without Hermione. It was a group that seeked for security in these dark times. People came together, huddled close, as if they could transmit their power to each other.

It was obvious the group was idolizing Hermione though. They all wore small trinkets around their necks, legs or arms. It often held a muggle picture of Hermione who had been arranged to look wise and martyrised. The picture was framed with strassstones and ribbons, shiny metal scraps was keeping the whole thing together and gleaming stickers and parchment scraps with Athermancy or SPEW propaganda was also next to the picture, tightly rolled in a scroll. This whole trinket was attached with chains or ribbons, even with Hermione's hair.

Hermione was canonized and her followers were called the Hermioneists. Their actions were almost holy and each week, the article about Hermione was written by a different person and re-read until finally accepted and sent with Hedwig to Luna's father.

This whole business seemed very scary and almost perverted to the others. But the actual members were all sane and sound in their minds.

The Hermioneists were the new Dumbledore's Army. It was a defence group, who learned tenuously how to protect themselves and those they loved through intense studying and magic. Harry and Ron had insisted upon the name and the Hermione-fanatism so at least Hermione will be there in spirit.

The tacky trinkets were good lucks charms, but also the equivalent of Hermione's Galleons: a secure way how to contact each other. The herd system made it sure they had no traitors among them. A great bonus was that they were left alone and that the group worked as one person.

Harry and Ron had simply refused to let Hermione disappearance to disappear. It was their proud to keep on writing about her. They had made up plans no one wanted to follow (these plans most of the time involved a very dead Malfoy Jr. or at least a severely injured and/or maimed one).

In the end, the Hermioneists had agreed upon questioning Draco Malfoy. Which explained why he was dragged by two girls by his hair to the Shrieking Sack. The girls in question were Millicent Bulstrode and Rose Zweller; they had joined the group because of their friends. They didn't like nor dislike Hermione. But one thing they didn't like was Draco Malfoy.

Since the beginning of the school year, there had been something rotten about him. He had been deserted by his friends. Actually, he had deserted them; Pansy Parkinson, his best friend, had been so badly humiliated publicly she didn't have to do anything to get accepted in the Hermioneists.

Pansy had oddly well fitted into the group. The Hermionists weren't doing things that she fully understood, but being with Draco had trained her to ignore those thoughts and queasy feelings in the pit of her stomach.

She had been essential for the plan of questioning Draco. She had been the one to lurk him to the spot where other Hermioneists were waiting. Pansy had hated the idea of Draco being hurt and mistreated, but she needed the comfort the group provided for her. She knew better than no one else that where the individual was weak, the group was strong.

Draco was dragged and thrown in violently into the Shrieking Sack, where the Hermioneists had prepared a court room, where Harry and Ron were the judges; the Gryffindors were the witnesses, the Hufflepuffs the secretaries, the Rawenclaws Hermione's lawyers and the Slytherins… the Slytherins all pointed their wands at Draco.

Draco didn't move, but slowly lifted his head and met the eyes of Harry and Ron and bowed, knowing that from this day forward on, nothing will ever be the same in his life. Everything he had been taught, everything he had ever believed in, everything will be destroyed. He will be marked, animals and children will smell it on him.

"- I don't know where she is, but I will bring you to the Manor."

Harry and Ron nodded. That moment, they felt blood, odd blood, rush up to their hearts and heads. They watched down and brought their hands to their mouth exactly at the same moment, of that movement smokers do when they think. An odd smell came to their nose, the one of magnolias, ink, grapefruit and sweet fabrics. Something rotting as well, something dark, a smell of dread for those who weren't them.

Harry and Ron smiled to each other and everyone knew that from that point forward on, Draco could never be left alone and he will be stampled as Harry's and Ron's propriety.

They all knew that Hermione was present that moment and they also felt that she will be with them again soon.

Luna clapped twice in her hands and candles lit around a picture of Hermione and Pansy turned to watch the picture. Slowly her words echoes in the room, warm, sweet, deep words, like the perfume of a flower in a night, a flower you can smell but cannot see. They were the last words before the chaotic times ahead, words that maybe were the ringling smoke of the flame of love.

" - Clearly there was something from the past, spooking and speaking me back; and suddenly I realized, it was you"


	18. Evil Emptiness

**Chapter 18:** Go ahead, KILL ME! But if you do, I'll leave this story where it is! HA!

I am in the middle of my christmas baking, so my comments will be short.

Thank you everyone for reviewing, sorry for the wait.

**FinnishGirl**: kiitos, hyvää joulua ja niin pois päin.

**Prin69:** Aw, I know, this one has its share of odd cuteness as well.

**FrenchPiment:** Moi aussi j'ai bien aimé l'athmosphère quasi psychotique de mon culte.

**SupaFly**: thanks and happy xmas and may God inseminate your spouse!

** CareBearErin:** Draco being stampled means he lost his liberty.

** Whogirl**: Sorry for the wait, really am.

**HermioneGrangr91**: thank you.

** Alandrea the Magical Kitty **: The beginning of the chapter would have been a one shot. It was longer in the beginning though, I just changed it. I just thought it was very fancy and quite interesting style-wise. ( I like to show off, yes)

**Semi-Interested Reader:** I keep my "-", no matter how much you hate them.

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Some dates just stuck out as special. 13th of December was one of those day. Or at least was to be. The 13th of December is the day of light, Santa Lucia. It was also Lucius's name day. Also, it was the day where Lucius was confronted with a new, terrible feeling.

Hermione had refused to eat any food Lucius present in front of her. Everything, no matter how much he ate of it in front of her, how gentle he was, how magicless the food was, Hermione refused to eat another bite. She didn't really have cramps in her stomach she thought she was going to have. The shallow feeling in her stomach was warm, and not that empty really. It was the same feeling you have from laughing real hard. It was comfortable.

Besides, with her life long starving, she didn't feel that uncomfortable; she was used to it. Now, when she breathed out, her ribcage formed a perfect kitty basket just after she'd been in the bathroom. After drinking, she looked like she was pregnant, with all the water in her belly. She loved wriggling around then, wearing the odd noises her belly did. It made her always giggle and Lucius thought it was horrid.

If Hermione didn't eat, she drank. She drank like a camel, always from the tap of the bathroom. Water flew through her in cool arrows and she felt good. She hissed and spit and avoided Lucius's contact, feeling betrayed and annoyed. Yet something very odd was going in her. Her heart didn't beat correctly anymore. Her heartbeat had tripled.

Lucius was getting fed up with Hermione not eating. It was unhealthy. He felt like he was starving a child and a host, a very rude thing to do. After 8 days of dreadful waiting, Lucius couldn't stand it anymore.

He walked briskly to Hermione, stumbling almost on the wheelchair he threw against the bed and waked Hermione briskly. Sleep drunk, she lifted her head but Lucius snatched her arm so hard that the pain awaked her completely.

Lucius produced a croissant from his pocket and stuffed it into Hermione's mouth. She gagged and spit it out, but Lucius just rammed it deeper into her throat with his fingers. She chocked and started coughing. She hit him, Lucius pushed his body on hers. Hermione gathered her force, turned her bust briskly and hit him with her fist in his face as hard as she could.

Lucius flew out of the bed, on the floor. The hit had been impressing, but not so hard it could have made him fall. He had fallen on purpouse, because of the shock. Lucius wasn't used to physical force; magic was much more practical.

Hermione took the wheelchair and briskly pushed herself off the bed on it. She managed to open the door to the bathroom. She has a cheap paperbook she had received in a magazine a week earlier in her hand. On an impulse, she stuck he think paperback between the door and its support so the door would be stuck close.

She pushed herself gently forward, hands slightly trembling. She was in the corridor leading to the bathroom her plan had begun. It had arranged things, yet made them also so much more complicated. A sad smile made its way to her face and she watched the ceiling, trying to stop the urge to cry that kept on rising in her chest.

The wind howled outside and threw fistfuls of hard snow against the thick glass windows. Wave upon wave, upon wave hit the glass, calming Hermione. She saw the sheen of whiteness and imagined that it was a huge hankie that just begged for her to let her tears to be wiped away.

As Hermione watched out from the window, she knew that as long windows existed, there would be a way to escape from the world surrounding her. There was always some notion of liberty in a window.

She opened one of the windows carefully, counting the strokes of the wind so the window wouldn't slam into her face. A set of seven wires held the window closed and Hermione managed to open six of them. The wind was so powerful it simply broke the last wire that held the window shut.

One of the window panels fell from the support and if Hermione wouldn't have pushed it as hard as she could backwards, outside, it would have definitely crushed her. The heavy glass structure made a strange whistling sound as it fell down and Hermione stuck her head carefully outside to see if the window broke.

The distance between the tower and the ground below was so long Hermione couldn't see whether the window broke or not. Actually, the huge window panel that had been at least as long as herself (twice taller even) was not bigger than large chocolate bar from up where she was.

The wheelchair was carefully placed next to the wall and Hermione started the heavy, slow task of dragging her up on the windowsill. Hermione put her arms on the windowsill and pulled up herself and managed to fling one leg on the cool stone surface. After finally managing to sit on the windowsill, she breathed in shakily. It wasn't hard, but the lacy wedding dress as well as its five layers of tulle wasn't helping much either. The positive side was that Hermione wouldn't freeze.

The windowsill was cool. Hermione installed herself somewhat comfortably. Stones were under her butt. They were cool, half in ice, half in moss. The trees she'd seen in autumn were bare now, poking out from the balconies all around the mansion. It was beautiful how everything looked dead and lifeless.

Hermione sat on the windowsill and bent forward so she could let her elbows rest on her knees. Her head felt heavy from the fight and she wanted to clear her mind. She knew Lucius would punish her severely for hurting him. Hermione wasn't afraid of pain, but this time wasn't her usual fight.

Each time someone attacked her, Hermione could fight back. In battles, all rules are annihilated as long as you can cause pain. But this time, Lucius could stab her in the back and she could just lie down and endure it all. The prospect of this confrontation scared her very much. She chided herself and tried to over talk the fear. The fear of something just increased the fear of the thing itself.

Hermione hated heights. She hated it with a passion for a very good reason: emptiness had the most terrifying power. For instance, emptiness refused categorically goodness. It refuses it with a rare stubbornness. But evilness, in contrary, just begs to invade emptiness, just as if they were old friends that wanted to come together to exchange old memories.

If emptiness were good, angels wouldn't need winds to fly. It is surprising how often demon were pictured like creatures able to fly without wings. In books, heroines who caused the premature death directly of their lover threw themselves out of high towers to their deaths. The people who jump from buildings just ask to get contaminated by evilness. All too often the good people committed suicide.

The beautiful women took poison to conserve their beauty, the evil men were strong and arrogant enough to stab themselves, children slept away, mothers kept on living like martyrs. All the desperately good souls threw themselves to the emptiness. Heights assured your death. Or at least severe inner damage.

Heights were xenophobes. People call the Earth Mother, the time Father, say that water has memory and that fire is the Devil; why wouldn't air have its own personification and traits? It fire was the devil, air was its faithful little helper. Wind and fire do mix very well; fire destroys, but wind helps it to spread. Therefore, the air was xenophobic against goodness, but welcomed evilness in its emptiness.

Of course, there will always be people pretending good and evil don't exist; those people haven't met real evil. Goodness is very less convincing than evil: it's because its chemical structure is different. Goodness wasn't natural; you had to think about your actions if you wanted to do good things.

Like gold, goodness isn't found pure in the nature; therefore it's easy not to find it impressing. Evilness had the bad habit of always making a huge scene.

Evilness could be compared to a gas: it's hard to detect it, but you recognize it at its smell.

Lucius managed to open the door after some pushing and got very afraid as he saw Hermione sitting so close to emptiness. He had felt her fear of heights and he could sense her toughts of death.Before even he could do anything rational he just blurted out:

« You wouldn't jump. »

After this, Hermione said a sentence that reeked of tackiness, but was a sign also of love. Usually, when the sentence was used, it was heroic, sad but also terribly brave. But mostly sad. It was a mark of trust; a similar trust a mother would pace on a stranger to help her deliver her baby.

_Maybe I love him a bit in a way no one, not even me, could ever understand,_ Hermione thought as she saw his face, his hair. Love was a natural feeling and since the only human thing was Lucius, she loved him. He's tyrannical way of trying to force happiness and a carefree life on her was maybe horrible, yet it was also very sensitive. Maybe it was for this reason she said the words that crossed her lips.

" -I'm not afraid to die in your arms, Lucius."

Hermione pushed herself forward. She wasn't dangerously near the edge, but seeing her like this made Lucius very uncomfortable. He walked to her and took her by the arms.

Hermione hadn't expected the touch and since she still was angry, she scooted closer to the emptiness. When Lucius touched her skin, wrapped his hands around her elbows, without ever doing it on purpouse, she was suddenly half dangling outside. Suddenly, without even understanding why, hermione pushed herself of the windowsill and held Lucius elbows as well.

Lucius was tetanised of fear for Hermione.

" -Don't let go, I can offer my love for you for centuries if needed. I can be here for you forever."

" -That is a lie, Lucius, no one can promise that. It's stupid."

" -It's not. It's love."

" -Love isn't that brilliant really. It always makes people leave."

" -No, love makes people stay."

Just as he said this, Hermione let go of his elbows and used the wind to make her body moove dangerously much .She felt a wave of snow hit her face as she let herself slide down a bit more. Her hands now gripped loosely his and Lucius just saw it.

Their fingers were still connected.

Now, Hermione had just a final question.

"- Lucius, who do you think is stronger? The air or you?"

He saw it. He saw the spark that connected her brain to her hands. Before he could even say a word, Hermione's hands were off his.


	19. Paternal Psychosis

So, after one year of silence, I'm back with the continuation of My Dirty Little Secret.

All complaints and requests will be answered. Later.

Here we go:

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Chapter 19

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Lucius' hands tried to grasp into anything, hair, fabric, anything that was Hermione to keep her from falling. But as he bent after the white ghost, he saw the height and had to back off to calm down his heart. Any Gryffindor would have whipped out a spell, hoping on some wandless magic to kick in, but Lucius had to first calm down.

Because Lucius was in the middle of a psychosis. He couldn't move his hands, nor could he breathe and he heard for some reasons bells. He heard small tinker bells in his ears, and someone humming and the wind. It was a terrifying sound and as he closed his eyes, he was convinced he could see his own blood pool like caps underneath his eyelids.

Yes, in case you wonder, Lucius was going insane. How could someone just do that? Did she really hate him that much? Did she hate her life that much at this moment? How could she dare to punish him like this?

At that precise moment Lucius knew that Hermione had won over him. He was now definitely her slave and that if she had died, he would drag her corpse and wake her up from dead, just to be able to be near her and kiss her till she'd so decomposed there would only he dust left.

Lucius knew that he'd have to go and see the corpse, yet he didn't want to. It was odd because he loved the picture of his dead mother. She hadn't said a word as she had tumbled down and died. She had smiled to him, accepting her death and winter at once, as she had fallen into the fresh snow.

Lucius remember his mother bleeding, telling him to get his father with her eyes, silent pleas, but he had watched her from the top of the stairs from which she had fallen. He had waved to her until her breathing had become shallow. He remembered how suddenly he wanted toffee and he had walked down the marble stairs to walk down to the kitchens and he had passed his mother, who had blinked.

Her eyes had never seen as big and she transmitted to him her feelings, hoping he would understand some silent code. He hadn't understood it and kept on walking to the kitchens.

The candy was melting in his mouth as he watched the last leaves from the trees, brown with holes in them, fly over the yard. He remembered that a couple of the leaves had gotten stuck in her hair as had the red cellophane wrapper of a candy he had held in his hand.

He remembered how peaceful he felt back then and he tried to achieve that same calmness so that if Hermione was dead, he could enjoy the sight just as he had enjoyed the sight of his dead mother.

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Hermione flied through the air.

Actually, she fell a much shorter time than expected. For one simple reason: she landed earlier than expected. Why? Because something had been in her way. What? A tree.

Those trees Hermione had seen on the balconies in autumn, old trees, looking sinister without branches, had cushioned her fall. Actually, only one big tree had caught her. It had been a very ungently landing and Hermione felt that the branch that was between her legs had damaged at least her knee badly and she felt blood tickling down her tighs. She was almost upside down, twigs boring into her back, her arms scratched and her legs probably broken.

Hermione felt all this and more, but the only thing she thought about was the pain between her legs. Something was broken inside of her.

Hermione wasn't a virgin. She had taken her own virginity, touching herself with her fingers, opening herself. She made the blood come out as she forcefully penetrated herself, crying whilst doing so. She had decided on taking her own hymen after she felt the war brewing, just before this plan was carried out. She wanted that the person who deserved the most her virginity to get it. And Hermione couldn't think of someone better than herself.

Taking and giving yourself your own virginity was quite a good idea for a girl to do. It hurts, - of course it doesn't have to, but often it does -, but why let some crude boy do the deed when you could do it yourself, thus assuring that at least you'd get some pleasure out of it? Because fact is: no one can pleasure oneself as well as you do it yourself. Sex is only good when you know what feels good.

Hermione had as far as she remembered always masturbated. She had discovered her own body throughout the years and knew what to touch, what to caress, what to pinch to make herself implode. Her body marvelled her, how her skin could sense the differences of her moods and touches.

Here one might have to clarify that Hermione saw sex as masturbation (a pleasant task) and then the actual sexual intercourse with another person (a much more difficult task).

Hermione was also a very literate person. She thought and read a lot, which also contributed to her fantasies. She had her fantasies, her secret plans and her own taboo world where no one was allowed with their knowledge. Hermione had sex in her mind with the Weasly twins, with her teachers, girls and random people, people she either knew or had just seen.

One thing that never failed to amaze Hermione was how her own hand could replace a process as complicated as sex. First there was to choose the person with whom to have sex, then to actually get to arouse the person (here includes the task of flirting, dating, talking, preparing), then actually find time to have sex, find the place, the mood, the light, the protection and then – finally- have sex. And even then it wasn't even a guaranteed success. And there were also the feelings afterwards.

In other words, sex was difficult.

Hermione had had sex before, with Stan Shunpike of all people. The boy with bad skin that had been imprisoned by the ministry because of all the wrong reasons. As she had left for the Weasley's for the summer, she had taken the magic bus. The boy had asked for her ticket, she had paid for it and they started to chat. The road had been bumpy and suddenly, Stan had been on top of her, excusing himself as the bus continued to rock.

Hermione had kissed him and had felt his manly pain between her legs as they kissed. It had been silent and rocky, to say the least, but they had laughed through the act. He had touched her there were he asked to him to and it had been an overall pleasant experience.

They had met throughout the summer as she took the bus to the camp where she trained and they had shagged another couple of times. Hermione hadn't told this to anyone, simply because it was her business and no one else's. Besides, no one would have understood it.

All this to say that Hermione wondered what had cracked inside her. She felt blood and she knew it wasn't normal. Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. She let herself roll on the side, wishing she could keep on falling down.

----------

Harry Potter felt a silent thud and his body ached terribly. Ron watched Harry and he knew that Hermione was hurt. As one person, Ginny and Lavender ran out of the Gryffindor common room and down, down to the Slytherin dungeon. Blaise Zabini was going in and as he saw the faces of the two girls, he nodded gravely as he hurried after Draco Malfoy.

"- Draco, they want to see you."

Draco Malfoy slowly rose up from his bed and started to walk towards the door. Blaise was watching him, clearly annoyed by how slowly he walked. Draco exited his room, walked up the stairs to his common room and kept on walking to the armour that hid the entrance. Rosa Blubaum was there as well as Lavender Brown and Ginny Weasley. He followed the three girls up and down long corridors.

Harry and Ron were in an old room above the divination classes, on the tip top of a tower. The only way to access the room was to climb out on the roof and through a narrow window into the room, which was surprisingly wide.

The odd thing about the room was not it's nakedness (the walls were just plain granite, the floor and was wooden the windows set up very high) but the lack of any kind of source of light, yet the room was lit. It seemed to glow. No one knew why the room was there in the first place, nor did anyone exactly know how the room was found.

But it was an odd room for odd people and they liked it. Without knowing it, they mimicked perfectly Hermione's habitat.

Draco was scared witless. There were rumours about domestic abuse in Malfoy mansion, but all of it was just lies. Or at least Draco had never been beaten or threatened badly; he had led a normal, if a bit stiff life, with an absent father and a mother who didn't really know how to treat him. She had either been too close or too distant to Draco, but she always was there, in some way or other.

Her death had been a shock and ever since, Draco ha lived in a mist, alone, wondering how he didn't notice his mother presence when she still was alive.

He missed her.

The Hermioneists treated him badly, but he knew of their dull pain that made them rub their eyes and sniff the air with concern. They saw faces at the windows that didn't get cleaned, they read messages in the greasy stains on someone's forehead or nose or chin, they recognized faces of strangers. And this was the school, their home all of them grew up in.

Hermione's disappearance had opened a hatch and the putrid, unhealthy wind from the outer world started to sweep in.

Draco wanted people to feel safe and knew that he couldn't do it. It was a mission for all the Potters and Wealeys and he could only help them and Draco also knew he'd never be a hero to anyone. He had to accept it and he did, happy that people depended on it after all. He wasn't anonymous.

He sat down on the floor and listened to Potter and Weasley which demanded of him to return to his home for the winter vacation to spy on his father, to find Hermione, or at least clues of where she was for them. He nodded, not listening because he knew that nothing he would say would make a difference.

He knew already know that his father had forgotten him and that when he would be at the door of the mansion, his father would have surprised eyes and tell him to get in. Draco would spend his vacation at his relatives, old cousins and even older grand-aunts, enjoying tales of people that had died long before him, tales of other centuries, of times where families were together and he's find nothing about Hermione.

He knew what to tell the boys, he knew how he'd tell about the tower and the gardens, he'd invent a place where the girl was, he'd create hope. He preferred to lie to the Hermioneists than to tell them maybe the gruesome truth about their friend.

Draco actually wondered what his father did with the girl. He knew his father had her, because he had forgotten him. He had something new to love. Draco knew about his father's quest for beauty and the only reason to such a long silence from him had to be the found of a masterpiece.

And suddenly he realized that maybe his father didn't have her after all. Maybe he traded her against something, something better and more beautiful.

He promised the Hermioneists nothing more than to find out whether she was at the manor or not.

Harry settled for the deal, because he knew that if he'd asked for Draco to snoop the entire manor, he'd have rather lied to them than to have found anything out. All the Hermioneists knew where Hermione was. Now they just needed some precisions on her exact position in England.

Because Draco hadn't listened to all what Harry had said. Draco had accepted to reveal the address of the manor.

And that was all an owl needed. The mail always gets through.

* * *

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